"Perhaps we should disturb Miss Gower!" says she anxiously.
"Oh no!" says Mrs. Bethune quickly. "Her room is in the north wing. If we confine our game to this part of the house, she can never hear us."
"Still, it seems such a silly thing to do!" says Margaret nervously.
She distrusts Marian where Tita is concerned. Why should she advocate the game—she who is the embodiment of languor itself, to whom any sort of running about would mean discomfort?
"Dear Margaret," says Mrs. Bethune, in a low voice, but a distinct one—one quite loud enough for Colonel Neilson to hear, who is standing near Miss Knollys—"don't give way to it; don't let it conquer you—too soon!"
"It?—what?" asks Margaret unconsciously.
"Middle age!" sweetly, and softly always, but with a rapid glance at Neilson. She leans back and smiles, enjoying the quiet blush that, in spite of her, rises to Margaret's cheek. "I feel it coming," says she. "Even I feel it. But why encourage it? Why not let these children have their game, without a check from us who are so much older?"
"That is not the question," says Margaret coldly, who has now recovered herself. "My thought was that perhaps Maurice might not approve of this most harmless, if perhaps——"
"Frivolous performance. Of course, if you are going to manage
Maurice and Maurice's wife," with a strange laugh, "there is no more
to be said. But I wish you joy of the last task. And as for
Maurice," with a curl of her lips, "he is not a prig."
"Well, neither am I, I hope," says Margaret, with perfect temper.