“One, two, three. About what, dear?”
“Why, about—about my not coming?”
“No. I suppose he thought you were out.”
“Did you tell him so?”
“He didn’t ask, my dear. He has other things to think about than being attentive to young women.”
“It’s very lucky he has,” said Laura, haughtily.
“My dear, he lets you alone. Why can’t you let him alone?”
Laura took up a book, and Mrs. Pocklington counted her stitches in a brisk and cheerful tone.
It will be seen that George had a good friend in Mrs. Pocklington. In truth he needed some kindly countenance, for society at large had gone mad in praise of Neaera and Gerald. They were the fashion. Everybody tried to talk to them; everybody was coming to the wedding; everybody raved about Neaera’s sweet patience and Gerald’s unwavering faith. When Neaera drove her lover round the park in her victoria, their journey was a triumphal progress; and only the burden of preparing for the wedding prevented the pair being honoured guests at every select gathering. Gerald walked on air. His open hopes were realised, his secret fears laid to rest; while Neaera’s exaggerated excuses for George betrayed to his eyes nothing but the exceeding sweetness of her disposition. Her absolute innocence explained and justified her utter absence of resentment, and must, Gerald felt, add fresh pangs to George’s remorse and shame. These pangs Gerald did not feel it his duty to mitigate.