“Then we are a nice partie carrée, and we will go at once,” said she, rising and taking a shawl from the back of her chair.
No one inquired how far Mr. Meredith approved of the arrangement. He was left smoking a cigar in front of the café, while the partie carrée proceeded to the Riva in search of a gondola.
As was to be expected, Percy took possession of Aimée, while Lennox found himself walking by the side of his old love. Neither of them spoke for a minute or two; then Fanny turned and glanced at him with a mischievous smile.
“Time has its recompenses as well as its revenges occasionally,” she said. “Are you meditating on that?”
He looked at her and was forced to return her smile. “You are as full of diablerie as ever,” he said, “but if you have no sense of compassion, have you not any compunction?”
“Compassion!—compunction! What fine, large words! But why should I have either?” she asked. “You do not need compassion, I am sure; and as for compunction—you could not expect me to be sorry now?”
“Certainly not,” he answered, with alacrity. “Regret for what has resulted so well would be entirely out of place—for you, that is. For me, however—”
“Are you trying to insinuate that you have any regret?” said she, with a laugh. “Ah, that pretense is shallow! I have had such long experience that I can tell, the moment that I look into a man’s eyes, whether he feels the smallest bit of sentiment; and you—as far as I am concerned—you have not enough to put on the point of a pin! Do you think it strange of me to talk in this way?”—He did think so, and his face no doubt betrayed as much. “But I have a reason. I want you to understand that I am not under any foolish delusion about you, as some women would be. I am anxious that you should trust me, and let me be your friend.”
“Pray believe that I trust you entirely,” said Lennox—who did not trust her at all.