“Perhaps not, my friend, but I am not sure that I altogether agree with you. I feel that she liked you, with possibly more than the ordinary liking, and a girl wants some sign.”
“I wrote her once, asking her to hold me in remembrance; was that a sign, Madame? It was all I dared to make. It seemed to me it was deeds and not words that were wanted.”
“It was both, Monsieur, if you will allow me to say so, for without words how could a girl know that deeds were done for her sake alone?”
“I thought she would know it all because I loved her so,” he faltered.
“Oh, you men, you men!” Mrs. Lennox cried impatiently, “how you do expect a woman to take things for granted! Forgive me, Monsieur Grémond”—leaning forward and touching his arm—“but sometimes I get very cross over it.”
“Oh Madame, Madame!” he exclaimed impetuously, “you cannot think, you cannot mean I have made a mistake?”
“Indeed, no,” she replied reassuringly, seeing how his confident manner had changed to despair, “but I do mean that the ways of women are not more enigmatical than those of men—some men,” she qualified.
He laughed, glad to have the tension of the past moment broken by her light tone. For a moment neither spoke. Across the hall came the faint clicking of the billiard-balls.
“We must join the others, Monsieur,” the woman said at last.
“May I thank you for the pleasantest hour I have spent since my arrival?” he said earnestly as he rose.