“I am not talking of her. I am talking of poor young Radlet.”
“It seems to me that poor young Radlet, as you call him, is very well able to take care of himself.”
“Oh, you think that, do you? Shows how much you know! Can’t you see she was doing her very best to enslave his fancy, and that he was falling under the spell as fast as ever he could?”
“Pooh! Nonsense!” answered Randolph; “they were just exchanging a little of the current coin that is constantly passing in gay society. Young Radlet is not a green-horn. They understand their game perfectly.”
“She does, of course—no one better; but it’s a question if he does.”
“Well, he’s a greater fool than he looks, if he does not!” answered Randolph. “Does he expect a girl like Beatrice Wentworth to be enslaved by his charms in the course of a few hours? The thing’s a manifest absurdity!”
“Possibly; but that woman can make a man think anything.”
Randolph looked at his friend with some attention.
“You seem to have formed very exhaustive conclusions about Lady Beatrice Wentworth.”