"I know," laughed his hostess, and her air was so kind and confidential that Coxon was emboldened. He did not understand why people called the Governor's wife cold and "stand-offish"; he always insisted that no one could be more cordial than she had shown herself towards him.
"What do you know?" he asked, with a smile, and an obviously assumed look of surprise.
"You don't suppose I think I'm the inducement—or even the Governor? And we can't find her! Too bad!" and Lady Eynesford shook her head in playful despair.
"But," said Coxon, feeling now quite happy, "isn't the—the inducement—at home?"
"Oh yes, she's somewhere," replied Lady Eynesford, good-naturedly ignoring her visitor's too ready acquiescence in her modest disclaimer.
"I'm afraid I'm a poor politician. I can conceal nothing."
"Your secret is quite safe with me, and no one else has guessed it."
"Not even Miss Scaife?" asked Coxon, with a smile. Eleanor had so often managed a tête-à-tête for him, he remembered.
"Oh, I can't tell that—but, you know, we women never guess these things till we're told. It's not correct, Mr. Coxon."