“So I see.”
“And so do I,” said Rhoda, still laughing. But her slightly avenging gaiety dropped from her after the last sally, and turning again to the fire, and again kicking her log, she said, almost sombrely, “He absolutely worships me.”
Was not this everybody’s justification? Mrs. Delafield seized it, rising, as on a satisfying close.
“Will you stay to lunch?” she asked.
“Dear me, no!” Rhoda laughed. “I must get back to Christopher. And the motor is there waiting. So you’ll write to father and tell him that I came here and that you advised me to stick to Christopher.”
"Advised? Have I seemed to advise, Rhoda? Do you mean"—it was, Mrs. Delafield knew, the final peril—“that you had considered not sticking to him?”
Rhoda continued to laugh a little, drawing up her furs.
“Rather not! It couldn’t have entered my head, could it, either from the point of view of dignity or of taste—as you’ve been telling me? You have been very wonderful, you know! Tell father, then, if you like, that you gave us your blessing.”
“I’ll tell him,” said Mrs. Delafield, “that I’m convinced you ought not to go back to Niel.”
"I see,"—Rhoda nodded, and their eyes sounded each other, curiously,—“though father thinks I ought.”