"Why should I not?" she asked gaily. She had quite recovered herself. Ambert was very close now, and she turned and smiled at him—a smile of encouragement.
He came up and gave her the cup she had asked for, not noticing Blount even by a bare nod. He made a point of being rude to Blount. She drank the coffee, and then consented to go with him to the vineries. She rose, her small, graceful figure, slender as an elf's, looking even more fragile than usual in her pale gown, and moved a step or two forward with Ambert at her side.
Blount rose too. The very bitterness of death seemed on him now. She was going—going from him for ever.
At that moment Elfrida turned her graceful neck, and stopped and held out her hand to him. The little trifler was true to her calling.
"Won't you come too, Mr. Blount? Do."
There was actual entreaty in her eyes. Blount would have refused her request but for that look. As a fact, Elfrida felt the proposal from Ambert was imminent, and though she desired it, she wilfully determined to put it off, as women sometimes will. Blount rose, and, regardless of Ambert's insolent air went with her towards the houses.
Miss Firs-Robinson laughed; she was having a right royal revenge.
"Elfrida's good to the poor, too; in fact, she's good to every one—except perhaps"—thoughtfully—"young men."
"To me," said Mrs. Greatorex spitefully, "she appears the very kindest girl I ever knew to young men, and, indeed, to old men, and all men. She seems to have no other thought than for them."
"Just so. I said she was a flirt; but when she's married to Ambert she'll be cured of that."