“Oh, no, not at all, Monsieur Achille,” said Lady Blunt.
And then, after a great deal of bowing, we all fell into our places again.
“Won’t there be a scolding for this!” whispered Clara. “We shall both have impositions.”
“I don’t care,” I said, recklessly. “I should not mind if I slipped again.”
“Slipped!” said Clara, satirically; “that was a pretty slip, certainly. I never saw so clumsy a one, but it answered capitally.”
“What do you mean?” I said, innocently.
“Oh, of course, you don’t know, dear,” said Clara, growing more and more satirical. “But there, never mind, I have both the notes.”
“What notes?” I ejaculated, with my heart beginning to beat—oh, so fast!
“Now, don’t be a little stupid,” said Clara, “when you know all the time. The Signor dropped them into my parasol, as I held it down half shut, and there they are—for I have not dared to take them out yet.”
And there, sure enough, were two tiny brown paper squares, looking for all the world like packets of garden seeds, so as not to catch any one’s eye when they were delivered—tied up, too, with little bits of string, so as not to be in the least like what they were. Though, really, it was too bad to try and make out that the whole thing was planned, and that I had slipped on purpose. Now, was it not?