“And bandersnatch if you will,” said Perior, shaking her gently by the shoulders, and putting her away with a certain resignation.
“My good old bandersnatch! Dear old bandersnatch! After all, I need a bandersnatch, don’t I, to keep me straight? Yes, I forgive you. I must put up with you, and you must put up with me, fibs and all—fibs, do you hear, not lies. Oh, ugly word!” She clasped her hands on his arm, poor Perior! “And you will stay to lunch?”
“No, I won’t stay to lunch,” said Perior, smiling despite himself.
“Why?”
“I am busy.”
“You are a prig, you know,” said Camelia, as if that summed up the situation conclusively.
CHAPTER XI
WHETHER Camelia were decided on accepting Sir Arthur or not, every one else, under a waiting silence, considered the engagement an accomplished fact. Poor Mr. Merriman departed disconsolately when the reality of his utter ruin forced itself upon his unwilling understanding. Sir Harry contemplated the hopeless situation more compliantly, oscillated for a few days between feeble despair and jocular resignation, and then finding it impossible to utterly tear himself away from his charmer’s magnetic presence, he settled down to a melancholy flirtation with Mrs. Fox-Darriel that masked his inability to retreat. Lord and Lady Tramley went on to another visit, and the poet who wrote the virile poems and believed in the joy of life, finding Miss Paton less sympathetic than usual, penned a laconic, psychological verselet for her benefit, and departed.
Camelia seemed rather vague in the furtherance of hospitable projects, and the merest trickle of visitors went through the house, affecting very slightly the really placid routine.
Lady Paton’s whole personality expanded in prettiest contentment; the calm so far surpassed her expectations, and Camelia seemed very happy. Lady Paton could but take for granted her happiness.