PAUL’S GALLING SHACKLES.
“You are surprised to see me here to-night, Mimi,” Paul Desfrayne said, using an old childish pet-name that always disarmed his mother. “I came here with a friend to see Lady Quaintree”—he hesitated painfully—“on—on business.”
Mrs. Desfrayne opened her big blue eyes, and looked him straight in the face. A spasm of pique passed through her heart.
“You did not know that I was acquainted with Lady Quaintree?” she remarked, half-sarcastically, opening and shutting her fan with a movement which he knew well of old as indicating vexation. She was angry that he had come hither with some friend unknown to her, instead of asking her for an introduction, and telling her of his business.
“My dear mother, I did not know until this very afternoon that I was to come here. I remembered, when I heard the name, that you had spoken of her. It was she who lent you the opera-box last night, was it not?”
“Well—well, it does not signify. I must not be inquisitive,” said Mrs. Desfrayne, confident that she must learn all sooner or later. “Have you heard or seen anything of the young lady you spoke of yesterday evening?”
“I have.”
“You have?” cried Mrs. Desfrayne, drawing a step or two nearer to him. “What is she like? Where does she live? Is she pretty? What is she?”
Captain Desfrayne paused for an instant, as if perplexed at such a volley of questions.
“Her name is Lois Turquand, and she is the companion of Lady Quaintree,” he then very quietly replied.