"I didn't mean—what you said," she hastened to explain. "I only meant—I wonder if Wright would wait over and go up with us? It is so dull," she went on, "just travelling with the family, and Father likes him so much. What do you think, Mavis?"
Mavis thought that without Wright's pleasant, obtuse presence, that homeward voyage would be a nightmare. But she did not say so.
"I'm sure he'd love to," I answered, smiling into the pretty, eager face, "especially if you ask him—very nicely."
Mercedes laid her flushed cheek for a minute against my knees. Through the thin fabric of my gown I could feel the warmth of it.
"You like Wright, don't you?" she asked, a little anxiously. "And he's Billy's best friend—?"
I put my hand on her smooth, heavy hair. A scent, as of youth and flowers and sunshine came to me from the polished coils of it. Wright was a very fortunate young person.
"I'm very fond of him, Silly," said I, "and Bill adores him. There, is that recommendation enough?"
She jumped up, in a whirl of skirts, and kissed me impetuously: held me a moment in the clasp of her strong, young arms, and then, her high heels clicking on the tiles, ran into the house.
"More than enough," she called over her shoulder.
But when, charmingly hatted, dragging the point of a butterfly sunshade after her, she went down the path between Bill and Wright, there was no sign of her recent agitation on that smooth, creamy cheek.