No scruples there; yet he, too, was, as he had chanced to mention, a guest at Fillingford Manor.
"Besides, I want to get something out of you," Jenny went on, "and I'm much more likely to do that if I give you a good lunch."
"Something out of me? What, Miss Driver?"
"Ah, I shan't tell you now. Perhaps I may—after lunch."
He leaned down toward her and said banteringly, "You'll have to ask me very nicely!"
"You may be sure I shall!" cried Jenny, with a swift upward glance.
Jenny was flirting again—with both of them—perhaps with me also, for her side-glances in my direction challenged and defied my opinion of her proceedings. I was glad to see it; I did not want her abnegations to go too far, and it is always a pity that natural gifts should be wasted; one might, however, feel pretty sure that any Lent of hers would have its Mi-Carême.
But if flirting—a thing pleasant in itself, an exercise of essentially feminine power—it was also purposeful flirting. She conciliated the new owner of Hingston, who had his position—who also had his outlying farms; and again she drove a wedge—this time into Lord Fillingford's house-party.
"I'm so glad you can come," she said to Lacey. "I want you to meet Margaret so much." She paused for a second. "Miss Octon, you know." She looked him very straight in the face as she spoke.
"It's very good of you to let me," he said. "I hear she's charming."