She watched her mother in an agony for the effect of these words. Mrs. Farron had suddenly detected a new burn in the hearth-rug. She bent over it.
“This wood does snap so!” she murmured.
The rug was a beautiful old Persian carpet of roses and urns.
“Did you understand what I said, Mama?”
“Yes, dear; that Mr. Wayne was going to China in two weeks and wanted you to go, too. Was it just a politesse, or does he actually imagine that you could?”
“He thinks I can.”
Mrs. Farron laughed good-temperedly.
“Did you go and see about having your pink silk shortened?” she said.
Mathilde stared at her mother, and in the momentary silence Lucie came in and asked what madame wanted for the evening, and Adelaide in her fluent French began explaining that what she really desired most was that Lucie should not make so much noise in her room that monsieur could not sleep. In the midst of it she stopped and turned to her daughter.
“Won’t you be late for dinner, darling?” she said.