“Certainly—certainly. You young fellers! I was a young feller once, ha, ha, ha!” And old Garrett winked, and contorted his visage in the direction of his recent interlocutor in such wise as should mean volumes.
“This is ours, Miss Strange.”
Lilian had just come in. She had passed close behind the speaker while he was talking to old Garrett, and her entrance did not remain long undiscovered.
“Do you know, I had quite begun to fear you were not going to appear to-night—that you were tired or unwell,” he said, as they made their way to the dancing-room.
“Bight and wrong. I was tired, and so rested instead of dressing earlier. Now I am all right again, and never felt so well in my life.”
“Nor looked it.”
It slipped out. The slightest possible flush came into Lilian’s face.
“You must not pay me compliments, Mr Claverton,” she said, gravely, but with a smile lurking in her eyes. “They are what you men call ‘bad form.’”
“But consider the provocation.”
“Again? What am I to do to you? I know. I shall scold you. This is the second time to-day that you have reproached me for being late. This morning and now.”