Neaera stood looking on, half proud, half frightened, till Laura ran to her and kissed her, and called her the best friend she had, with much other emotional language.
Then Mrs. Pocklington came round, and took a cup of tea, and, still unconsciously doing just as she was meant to do, drifted into the balcony with the Marquis, and had a long conversation with him. When she came back, she found Vane ordering a fresh pot of tea.
“But we must really be going,” she said. “Mustn’t we, Laura?” And as she spoke she took her daughter’s hand and patted it.
“Do you expect any one else, Vane?” asked Mr. Blodwell.
“Well, I did, but he’s very late.”
“Where can he have got to?” asked Neaera, smiling.
“Oh, I know where he is,” said Vane. “He’s—he’s only in the next room.”
Everybody looked at Mrs. Pocklington and smiled. She looked at them all, and last at her daughter. Laura was smiling too, but her eyes were eager and imploring.
“If he wants any tea, he had better come in,” said Mrs. Pocklington.