Mary looked at him for a moment silently.
"I'm not at all sure that we ought to feel flattered! You consider that you and I and her ladyship are spectators, then. Isn't it very selfish?"
"More or less. Of course, it's impossible to do the thing thoroughly without being absolutely selfish—a hermit, in fact. I sometimes think I was intended for a hermit."
Mary sighed covertly, though the smile still lingered in her brown eyes.
"I'm afraid I only take a kind of sideways view of things. I should like to—to——"
"To go up in a kind of moral balloon," suggested Rainham laughingly, "and get a bird's-eye view of life?"
"Exactly; and drift about. Only then one would never get really interested in anything or anybody. I should want someone else in the balloon."
"You must take me," said Rainham, still smiling.
Mary looked at him quickly, and then turned away, shivering a little.
"What nonsense we are talking!" she said suddenly. "And I'm afraid it isn't even original nonsense. We don't, really, want to be selfish, and we're not; you needn't pretend you are. And isn't it getting very, very late? Don't you think Mrs. Lightmark looks as if we ought to go? I don't mean that she looks inhospitable. But isn't she rather pale and tired? This sort of thing doesn't seem to suit her as well as her husband. Yes, I must really go."