“I must, I must!” Miss Fincastle insisted, clenching her hands.
“And she will,” said Kitty tragically, after considering her friend’s face. “She will, and our holiday’s ruined. I see it—I see it plainly. She’s in one of her stupid conscientious moods. She’s fearfully advanced and careless and unconventional in theory, Eve is; but when it comes to practice——! Mr. Thorold, you have just got everything into a dreadful knot. Why did you want those notes so very particularly?”
“I don’t want them so very particularly.”
“Well, anyhow, it’s a most peculiar predicament. Mr. Bowring doesn’t count, and this Consolidated thingummy isn’t any the worse off. Nobody suffers who oughtn’t to suffer. It’s your unlawful gain that’s wrong. Why not pitch the wretched notes in the fire?” Kitty laughed at her own playful humour.
“Certainly,” said Thorold. And with a quick movement he put the fifty trifles in the grate, where they made a bluish yellow flame.
Both the women screamed and sprang up.
“Mr. Thorold!”
“Mr. Thorold!” (“He’s adorable!” Kitty breathed.)
“The incident, I venture to hope, is now closed,” said Thorold calmly, but with his dark eyes sparkling. “I must thank you both for a very enjoyable evening. Some day, perhaps, I may have an opportunity of further explaining my philosophy to you.”