Her husband, watching her, sees the glance, and grinds under it. He misunderstands it. As for Tom! Poor Tom! He, too, sees the pretty glance, and he, too, misunderstands it.
All at once a quick but most erroneous thought springs to life within his heart. Her glance now! Her tears awhile ago! Were they for him? Is she sorry because he is leaving her? Is her life here unbearable?
Mrs. Bethune has risen and come up to Tita.
"You speak as if we were going to leave you to immediate destruction?" says she. "Are you afraid of being left alone with—Maurice?"
Mrs. Chichester, who has a great deal of good in her, mixed up with a terrible amount of frivolity, comes forward so quietly that Tita's sudden whiteness is hardly seen, except by one.
"Fancy being afraid of Sir Maurice," says she. "Sir Maurice," casting a laughing glance at him, "I shouldn't be afraid of you."
Sir Maurice laughs back, and everyone laughs with him, and Mrs.
Bethune's barb is blunted.
"I am not afraid of anything," says Tita lightly. "But I confess I feel sorry at the thought of losing you all, even for a time——"
This prettily, and with a glance round her as good as an invitation for next year.
"I know you, Minnie" (to her cousin), "are going to delightful people—and you," turning suddenly to Mrs. Bethune, "I hope you are going to friends?"