“You’ve been awfully kind about pretending to.”
She laughed. “You don’t believe me? You must remember I had your grandmother to consider.”
“Yes: and my father—and Effie, I suppose—and the outraged shades of Givre!” He paused, as if to lay more stress on the boyish sneer: “Do you likewise include the late Monsieur de Chantelle?”
His step-mother did not appear to resent the thrust. She went on, in the same tone of affectionate persuasion: “Yes: I must have seemed to you too subject to Givre. Perhaps I have been. But you know that was not my real object in asking you to wait, to say nothing to your grandmother before her return.”
He considered. “Your real object, of course, was to gain time.”
“Yes—but for whom? Why not for you?”
“For me?” He flushed up quickly. “You don’t mean——?”
She laid her hand on his arm and looked gravely into his handsome eyes.
“I mean that when your grandmother gets back from Ouchy I shall speak to her——” “You’ll speak to her...?”
“Yes; if only you’ll promise to give me time——”