Mrs. Wayne looked impish.
“I always loved that sort of thing,” she said; and then, becoming more maternal, she added, “and that doesn’t mean it would be sensible because I’d do it.”
“Well,”—Wayne stood up preparatory to leaving the room,—“I mean to take her if she’ll go.”
His mother, who had now finished winding her braid very neatly around her head, sank into a chair.
“Oh, dear!” she said, “I almost wish I weren’t dining with Mr. Lanley. He’ll think it’s all my fault.”
“I doubt if he knows about it.”
Mrs. Wayne’s eyes twinkled.
“May I tell him? I should like to see his face.”
“Tell him I am going, if you like. Don’t say I want to take her with me.”
Her face fell.