“What a brute you are, Adelaide!” he said.
“Oh, my dear, you’re much worse,” she retorted. “You don’t have to overhear. You just read the human heart by some black magic of your own. That’s really more cruel than my gross methods.”
“Well, Mathilde,” said Farron, “as a reader of the human heart, I want to tell you that I approve of the young man. He has a fine, delicate touch on life, which, I am inclined to think, goes only with a good deal of strength.”
Mathilde blinked her eyes. Gratitude and delight had brought tears to them.
“He thinks you’re wonderful, Mr. Farron,” she answered a little huskily.
“Better and better,” answered Vincent, and he held out his hand for a letter that Pringle was bringing to him on a tray.
“What’s that?” asked Adelaide. One of the first things she had impressed on Joe Severance was that he must never inquire about her mail; but she always asked Farron about his.
He seemed to be thinking and didn’t answer her.
Mathilde, now simply insatiable, pressed nearer to him and asked:
“And what do you think of Mrs. Wayne?”