"Indeed! I shouldn't have thought him your style. Like Cassius, he used to have a 'lean and hungry look.'"
"Used he? I think him quite good-looking."
"He must have developed, then, in body as in intellect. Three years ago he was a very gaunt youth indeed."
"Of course, Stafford," breaks in Mr. Amherst's rasping voice, "we can all make allowances for your joy on seeing your wife again after such a long absence. But you must not monopolize her. Remember she is the life of our party."
"Thank you, Mr. Amherst. What a delightful compliment!" says Cecil, with considerable empressement. "Sir Penthony was just telling me what an enjoyable voyage he had; and I was congratulating him. There is nothing on earth so depressing or so humiliating as sea-sickness. Don't you agree with me?"
Mr. Amherst mutters something in which the word "brazen" is distinctly heard; while Cecil, turning to her companion, says hastily, holding out her hand, with a soft, graceful movement:
"We are friends?"
"Forever, I trust," he replies, taking the little plump white hand within his own, and giving it a hearty squeeze.
To some the evening is a long one,—to Luttrell and Molly, for instance, who are at daggers drawn and maintain a dignified silence toward each other.