But this tête-à-tête was not allowed to last long.
Gerard, jealous himself, had been quick to notice in the looks of the younger and handsomer Van Santen the keen admiration of Miss Davison’s beauty and grace, which seemed but a natural tribute to her charms.
Denver came up at a sauntering pace, and with a glance at Gerard, which was by no means one of pure benevolence, asked—
“Are you two old friends now? Is Mr. Buckland a long-standing acquaintance of yours, Miss Davison?”
“I’ve known him a year, haven’t I, Mr. Buckland? Isn’t is about a year since I first met you at the Aldingtons’?”
“It’s getting on that way now. It was in October.”
“Well, don’t treat him as if he was such an old friend that you haven’t any eyes for newer ones, Miss Davison,” pleaded Denver, in that bluff way which gave him an air of great honesty and good nature, but which struck Gerard, at that moment, as being merely rude and ill-mannered. “Miss Davison, I want you to come in and look over my shoulder—to bring me luck,” he said.
“Hadn’t you luck enough to please you this afternoon?” asked Gerard, more dryly than was quite civil. “You seemed to have things all your own way with Aldington and Gurdon, and the others!”
Denver, instead of being offended, burst into a hearty laugh.
“Did I?” said he. “Well then, come now, you shall take revenge upon me for all the rest of ’em? Will that do?”