And all the time Dick Sheridan was hoping that the people who saw him conducting the beautiful lady to that pleasant place which, like all really pleasant places, held seats only for two, would say that he was a gay young dog, and look on him with envious eyes.
It was, however, of the lady that people talked.
But then, people were always talking of Mrs. Abington—especially the people who never talked to her.
She was wise enough to refrain from ignoring the topic which had caused him to blush.
“What a whim to take possession of such a young woman as Miss Linley!” she cried. “Have you tried to account for it, Dick? Of course I was in jest when I suggested that she had smitten you. ’Twas your elder brother who was her victim, was it not?”
He was strong enough, though he himself thought it a sign of weakness, to say at once:
“’Twas Charlie who fancied that he was in love with her; but ’twas I, alas! who loved her.”
Mrs. Abington’s lips parted under the influence of her surprise. She stared at him for some moments, and then she said:
“Dick Sheridan, you are a man; and a few minutes ago I thought that you were only a boy.”