Mr. Sauls stood twisting the cord of his eyeglass rapidly round his finger: he had a trick of apparently absorbing himself in some physical detail of the sort when he was more than usually interested.
"I want to be converted," he remarked. "Do you think that she would undertake me?"
Mr. Russelthorpe chuckled. This young Jew, with his keen eye to the main chance, always entertained him.
"There's no knowing. Young women are very hopeful," he said. "Go on—go on and try."
Mr. Sauls went on into the drawing-room.
A buzz of conversation greeted him. Mrs. Russelthorpe was entertaining about twenty ladies; Meg was standing apart in the bow window.
Mr. Sauls joined in the talk at once; he made smart speeches to his hostess, and conversed with every one: he was never in the least shy.
Presently some one mentioned the ball that was to be given at the Heights. "You are going, of course?" she said.
The question sounded innocent enough, but it sent a thrill through the atmosphere.
Mrs. Russelthorpe made a distinct pause, and then said, in clear decisive tones: "My niece sets all her elders to rights on that subject. You had better explain why we are not to go, Margaret; for your views are beyond me."