"Only yesterday. And I had not thought to see you so soon," she said, in an altered tone.
Why was I standing there at Maud's feet? Why had I come into the Park at all? I, who was so little of a man that, amidst all this great crowd of people I was obliged to struggle hard to keep an unmoved countenance and a measured tone. I felt bitterly angry with myself as I answered, with averted face—
"Nor I you. I had forgotten that Devereux was not your home. You live here, do you not?"
She smiled indulgently at my ignorance.
"We are generally here for the season," she said. "We have a house in Mayfair. Will you come and see me?"
I shook my head, and answered bluntly—
"Thank you, no, Miss Devereux."
She leaned forward in her carriage, with a sudden increase of animation in her manner.
"You are a Don Quixote, Hugh," she said, half angrily, half reproachfully. "How can you be so foolish as to believe that rubbish about my father! Wait till you hear how people talk of him, and then you will know how stupidly mistaken you have been. And he likes you so much, too. You might come and see us whenever you liked, if you would only not be so silly."
"How do you do, Miss Devereux?"