Paliser shook his handsome head. "I wanted to."
Pleasantly she invited it. "Yes?"
"I wanted to ask her to marry me."
There he was dangling, and what a fish! The dear woman licked her chops, not vulgarly, of course, but mentally.
Paliser, who knew perfectly well what she was at, smiled tantalisingly. "It is beastly to boast, but I am an epicure."
What in the world does he mean? the dear woman wondered. But she said: "Of course you are."
Paliser, who was enjoying himself hugely, resumed: "An epicure, you know, postpones the finest pleasures. He does so sometimes because of the enchantment of distance and again because he can't help himself. That has been my case."
It was fully a moment before Mrs. Austen got it. Then she said: "But I told you, didn't I? Mr. Lennox is dead and buried."
It was quick work. Paliser, admiring her agility, laughed. "So recently though! The immortelles have not had time to fade."
That would have made a saint swear! Not being a saint, Mrs. Austen contented herself with virtuous surprise. "But there were none! I told you that. I told you that any attraction he may have had for my child, he shocked straight out of her. Not deliberately. Dear me, I would not have you fancy such a thing for a moment. Nor would I misjudge him. I hope I am too conscientious. But such interest as the child had in him—an interest I need hardly say that was girlish and immature—he destroyed."