"Well, don't be disagreeable to the poor woman simply because I said something you didn't like."
"Something I didn't like? That's an absurd way of putting it. It's only that to be for ever hearing of nobody but—"
"That tall young woman over there seems to be staring rather hard at you and me, Harry."
"By gad, it is her! I must run." His smiles broke out again. "I say, Doris, I shall get into trouble over this! You're looking your best, my dear, and she's as jealous as—I must run! Au revoir!"
"It's not Mrs. Freere—so I suppose it's Lady Lucy," thought the Nun. She was in high good temper at the result of her casual allusion to Andy Hayes. The shoe pinched there, did it? She was not vicious towards Harry; she wished him no harm—indeed she wished him more good than he would be likely to welcome—but the extreme complacency of his manner in the earlier part of their talk stirred her resentment. Her suggestion about Andy Hayes put a quick end to that.
Lady Lucy had an impudent little face, with an impudent little turned-up nose. She settled herself cosily into her chair on the balcony and peeled off her gloves.
"I'm so glad we're just by ourselves—I mean, since poor Mrs. Belfield wasn't well enough to come. I was afraid of finding Lily Freere!"
"What made you afraid of that?" asked Harry, smiling.
"Well, she is about with you a good deal, isn't she? Does your wife like being managed so much? Or is it your choice?"
"Mrs. Freere's an old friend."