“And I never to see it!” exclaimed he, as he walked hurriedly to and fro. “But I ought to have seen it, eh, Mrs. Morris?—I ought to have seen it. I ought, at least, to have suspected that these fellows are always on the lookout for such a chance as this. Now I suppose you 'll laugh at me for the confession, but my attention was entirely engaged by watching our Irish friend.”
“The great O'Shea!” exclaimed Mrs. Morris, laughing.
“And to tell you the truth, I never could exactly satisfy myself whether he came here to ogle my ward, or win Charley's half-crowns at billiards.”
“I imagine, if you asked him, he 'd say he was in for the 'double event,'” said she, with a laugh.
“And, then, Mrs. Morris,” added he, with a sly smile, “if I must be candid, I fancied, or thought I fancied, his attentions had another object.”
“Towards me!” said she, calmly, but in an accent as honest, as frank, and as free from all concern as though speaking of a third person. “Oh, that is quite true. Mr. Layton also made his little quiet love to me as college men do it, and I accepted the homage of both, feeling that I was a sort of lightning-conductor that might rescue the rest of the building.”
Sir William laughed as much at the arch quietness of her manner as her words. “How blind I have been all this time!” burst he in, angrily, as he reverted to the subject of his chagrin. “I suppose there's not another man living would not have seen this but myself.”
“No, no,” said she, gently; “men are never nice observers in these matters.”
“Well, better late than never, eh, Mrs. Morris? Better to know it even now. Forewarned,—as the adage says,—eh?”
In these little broken sentences he sought to comfort himself, while he angled for some consolation from his companion; but she gave him none,—not a word, nor a look, nor a gesture.