He knew how to throw into these words a feeling and warmth which made the girl’s cheeks flush. There was a pause.
“You do believe in my friendship, do you not?” he asked, more softly still.
“Of course I do,” answered the girl, looking up with an effort. “I—I—am sure you mean to be very kind, Mr. Braithwaite.”
“Then don’t be too unkind to me. Promise me that you will send me your address in town.”
“I cannot,” said the girl; then, glancing round, she saw fixed upon her glassily the light, colorless eyes of her eldest pupil Joan.
Defiant bitterness and a dozen kindred feelings woke up within the little governess.
“I promise,” said she; and she let him take her hand and press it gently in his.
He turned and saw Joan—saw the malignant look in her eyes, and knew that she had been watching them. Nothing could have pleased him better.
“Ah, Miss Mainwaring, have you too been listening to Lord Ben Nevis’ speech? Not a bad speaker, though he gets rather in a tangle with his quotations sometimes.”
Joan would have liked to say something satirical, but nothing occurred to her. She had even to swallow her indignation so far as to talk quite amicably to this deceitful Lovelace, and to persuade herself into thinking that, though he might amuse himself for a few odd moments with that little Miss Lane, he found a taller, slimmer, less talky woman more permanently attractive. Still he had certainly been looking at Miss Lane, as he bent over her, where she sat in a corner of the tent, in an irritatingly admiring manner.