"Oh, certainly--about Van Loo, of course," he returned hurriedly.
"And then," said Mrs. Horncastle brightly, "I'll tell her. Stay!" she
interrupted herself hurriedly. "Why need I say anything about your
having been here AT ALL? It might only annoy her, as you yourself
suggest." She stopped breathlessly with parted lips.
"Why, indeed?" said Barker vaguely. Yet all this was so unlike his usual
truthfulness that he slightly hesitated.
"Besides," continued Mrs. Horncastle, noticing it, "you know you can
always tell her later, if necessary." And she added with a charming
mischievousness, "As she didn't tell you she was coming, I really don't
see why you are bound to tell her that you were here."
The sophistry pleased Barker, even though it put him into a certain
retaliating attitude towards his wife which he was not aware of feeling.
But, as Mrs. Horncastle put it, it was only a playful attitude.
"Certainly," he said. "Don't say anything about it."
He moved to the door with his soft, broad-brimmed hat swinging between
his fingers. She noticed for the first time that he looked taller in his
long black serape and riding-boots, and, oddly enough, much more like
the hero of an amorous tryst than Van Loo. "I know," she said brightly,
"you are eager to get back to your old friend, and it would be selfish
for me to try to keep you longer. You have had a stupid evening, but you
have made it pleasant to me by telling me what you thought of me. And
before you go I want you to believe that I shall try to keep that good
opinion." She spoke frankly in contrast to the slight worldly constraint
of Barker's manner; it seemed as if they had changed characters. And
then she extended her hand.
With a low bow, and without looking up, he took it. Again their
pulses seemed to leap together with one accord and the same mysterious
understanding. He could not tell if he had unconsciously pressed her
hand or if she had returned the pressure. But when their hands unclasped
it seemed as if it were the division of one flesh and spirit.
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