Masterman suddenly stood before them. "Father would never forgive me if
in his absence I permitted one of Mr. Islington's friends to go in this
way. You will stay, won't you? Do! And you will give me your arm now;
and when Mr. Islington has done staring, he will follow us into the
dining-room and introduce you."
"I have quite fallen in love with your friend," said Miss Blanche, as
they stood in the drawing-room looking at the figure of Bill, strolling,
with his short pipe in his mouth, through the distant shrubbery. "He
asks very queer questions, though. He wanted to know my mother's maiden
name."
"He is an honest fellow," said Islington, gravely.
"You are very much subdued. You don't thank me, I dare say, for keeping
you and your friend here; but you couldn't go, you know, until father
returned."
Islington smiled, but not very gayly.
"And then I think it much better for us to part here under these
frescos, don't you? Good by."
She extended her long, slim hand.
"Out in the sunlight there, when my eyes were red, you were very anxious
to look at me," she added, in a dangerous voice.
Islington raised his sad eyes to hers. Something glittering upon her own
sweet lashes trembled and fell.
"Blanche!"
She was rosy enough now, and would have withdrawn her hand, but
Islington detained it. She was not quite certain but that her waist
was also in jeopardy. Yet she could not help saying, "Are you sure that
there isn't anything in the way of a young woman that would keep you?"
"Blanche!" said Islington in reproachful horror.
"If gentlemen will roar out their secrets before an open window, with
a young woman lying on a sofa on the veranda, reading a stupid French
novel, they must not be surprised if she gives more attention to them
than her book."
"Then you know all, Blanche?"
"I know," said Blanche, "let's see--I know the partiklar style
of--ahem!--fool you was, and expected no better. Good by." And, gliding
like a lovely and innocent milk snake out of his grasp, she slipped
away.
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