It was on the tip of Geoffrey's tongue to speak freely of his hopes for the future. Instead he bent his head over the table, saying nothing till he felt he had full control of his voice once more. Then he spoke in the same hopeless tones.
"I have become a fatalist," he said. "Please change the subject."
Mrs. May did so discreetly and easily. And yet in a few moments the doings of the Ravenspurs were on her tongue again and, almost unconsciously, Geoffrey found himself talking about Marion, Mrs. May listening quietly.
"I have seen the young lady," she said. "She has a nice face."
"Marion is an angel," Geoffrey cried. "Her face is perfect. You have only to look at her to see what she is. Nobody with a countenance like that could do wrong, even if she wished it. No matter who and what it is everybody comes under Marion's sway. Men, women, children, dogs, all turn to her with the same implicit confidence."
"Marion seems to be a warm favorite," Mrs. May smiled. "And yet I rather gather that she does not hold first place in your affections?"
"I am engaged to my cousin Vera," Geoffrey explained. "We were boy and girl lovers before Marion came to us. Otherwise—well, we need not go into that. But I never saw any one like Marion till to-night."
Mrs. May looked up swiftly.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked.
"I mean exactly what I say. In certain ways, in certain lights, under certain conditions your face is marvelously like that of Marion."