“You are very delightful,” he said, “with your 'She has taken me out.' When I glanced at the magnificent array of cards on the salver in the hall, I realised a number of things, and quite vulgarly lost my breath. The Dunholms have been very amiable in recalling our existence. But charming Americans—of your order—arouse amiable emotions.”
“I am very amiable myself,” said Betty.
It was he who flushed now. He was losing patience at feeling himself held with such lightness at arm's length, and at being, in spite of himself, somehow compelled to continue to assume a jocular courtesy.
“No, you are not,” he answered.
“Not?” repeated Betty, with an incredulous lifting of her brows.
“You are charming and clever, but I rather suspect you of being a vixen. At all events you are a spirited young woman and quick-witted enough to understand the attraction you must have for the sordid herd.”
And then he became aware—if not of an opening in her armour—at least of a joint in it. For he saw, near her ear, a deepening warmth. That was it. She was quick-witted, and she hid somewhere a hot pride.
“I confess, however,” he proceeded cheerfully, “that notwithstanding my own experience of the habits of the sordid herd, I saw one card I was surprised to find, though really”—shrugging his shoulders—“I ought to have been less surprised to find it than to find any other. But it was bold. I suppose the fellow is desperate.”
“You are speaking of——?” suggested Betty.
“Of Mount Dunstan. Hang it all, it WAS bold!” As if in half-amused disgust.