She shook her head. “That’s the mistake all you men make. You think a woman sees nothing unless she’s not watching you the whole time. But she does.”
It flattered him to be included under the general heading of “you men.” And at that moment Muriel came into the room. She was wearing a low evening dress, wonderfully charming in her new-found womanhood. Roland’s eyes followed her in admiration.
“Isn’t she pretty?” he said. “That pale blue dress; it’s just right. It goes well with her complexion. Pale colors always do.”
Beatrice did not answer for a moment; then she gave a little sigh. “Yes, Muriel is very pretty. I envy her.”
Roland turned quickly to her a look of surprised interrogation.
“But you! Why you look younger than any of us.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps; but what’s the use of it to me? Ah, don’t say anything, please. You mustn’t waste your time on me. Go on and talk to Muriel.”
Dinner that evening was a jovial meal. Muriel having announced with due solemnity that Gerald had won his bet, she proceeded to decide at what theater Mr. Marston should fulfill his obligation.
“And don’t you think,” said Muriel, “that Roland ought to come with us? If it weren’t for him we shouldn’t be going at all.”
“I suppose he ought, the young rascal, though I can’t think why he should have spotted it. Muriel was an untidy little scamp when he went away, and she’s an untidy little scamp now he’s come back.”