“I did not know he was your cousin,” said Wickham, who suffered from the fatal tendency in moments of doubt to say something.
Mrs. Almar looked at Riatt.
“Will you be a cousin to me?” she asked. “It commits you to nothing.”
“I don’t consider that an advantage,” he returned, drawing his elbow slightly inward, so that her hand, if not actually pressed, was made to feel secure upon his arm. “There are some things I wouldn’t a bit mind being committed to.”
Mrs. Almar moved her black head from side to side.
“You must be more specific,” she said, “or I shan’t understand you.”
“More specific in words?” he inquired gently. They were crossing the hall, and had a sort of privacy for an instant.
“Dear me,” she returned, “you do move rather rapidly, don’t you?”
“I’m an aviator, you see,” he answered.
Across the table Christine was trying to be gracious and graceful while she put up with Hickson, but she was feeling as any honest captain feels at having a prize cut out from under his very nose.