“No, I do assure you, it's bang-up. Ah, Miss Mavick, delighted, delighted. Most charming. Lucky for me, wasn't it? I'm just in time.”
“You've only recently come over, Lord Montague?” asked Evelyn.
“Been here before—Rockies, shooting, all that. Just arrived now—beastly trip, beastly.”
“And so you were glad to land?”
“Glad to land anywhere. But New York suits me down to the ground. It goes, as you say over here. You know Paris?”
“We have been in Paris. You prefer it?”
“For some thing. Paris as it was in the Empire. For sport, no. For horses, no. And” (looking boldly into her face) “when you speak of American women, Paris ain't in it, as you say over here.”
And the noble lord, instead of passing on, wheeled about and took a position near Evelyn, so that he could drop his valuable observations into her ear as occasion offered.
To Philip Mrs. Mavick was civil, but she did not beam upon him, and she did not detain him longer than to say, “Glad to see you.” But Evelyn—could Philip be deceived?—she gave him her hand cordially and looked into his eyes trustfully, as she had the habit of doing in the country, and as if it were a momentary relief to her to encounter in all this parade a friend.
“I need not say that I am glad you could come. And oh” (there was time only for a word), “I saw the announcement. Later, if you can, you will tell me more about it.”