"Yes; I think it a very touching and pretty story," said Frank, severely ignoring the note of irony in her voice.
He had all a man's dislike to hearing a woman talk cynically of sentiment; that should be exclusively a masculine privilege.
"Perhaps," said Phyllis, "it takes the bloom off it a little, that Edward Marsh married on the way out. But his wife died last year, so it is all right."
Frank burst out laughing, Phyllis joining him. A minute later Gertrude and Lucy came in and confirmed the wonderful news; and the four young people stood gossiping, till the sound of the studio bell reminded them that the day's work had begun.
Jermyn came in, by invitation, to supper that night, and was introduced to the new arrival, a big, burly man of middle age, whose forest of black beard afforded only very occasional glimpses of his face.
As for Fanny, it was touching to see how this faded flower had revived in the sunshine. The little superannuated airs and graces had come boldly into play; and Edward Marsh, who was a simple soul, accepted them as the proper expression of feminine sweetness.
So she curled her little finger and put her head on one side with all the vigour that assurance of success will give to any performance; gave vent to her most illogical statements in her most mincing tones, uncontradicted and undisturbed; in short, took advantage to the full of her sojourn (to quote George Eliot) in "the woman's paradise where all her nonsense is adorable."
"I don't know what those girls will do without me," Fanny said to her lover, who took the remark in such good faith as to make her believe in it herself; "we must see that we do not settle too far away from them."
And she delicately set a stitch in the bead-work slipper which she was engaged in "grounding" for the simple-hearted Edward.