As she spoke she tapped Fin on each shoulder—from whence the imaginary wings doubtless sprang—with her fan, while aunt and niece gazed in each other’s eyes.
“Yes, exactly,” said Sir Felix, smiling feebly.
But somehow he did not feel comfortable, and in spite of his after-efforts to lead Fin into conversation, he failed.
The end of it was that the little maid telegraphed to another admirer, and had herself carried back to where she had left her sister; but Tiny was gone.
In fact, as soon as they were left alone, Vanleigh had quietly offered his arm.
“This room is too hot for you, Valentina,” he said. “Let me take you out of the crowd.”
“Masterly inactivity,” Fin had said, and the words seemed to ring in Tiny’s ears, as, unable to refuse, she suffered herself to be led through the crowded rooms, past Lady Rea, who nodded and smiled—past Aunt Matty, who came up, tapped the Captain on the middle shirt stud with her fan, and pinched her niece’s cheek, as she smiled at her like a wintry apple—past Sir Hampton, who came behind her, and whispered, a faint “Er-rum.”
“Thank you, Tiny: good girl!”—out on to the great broad staircase, now a complete conservatory of exotics where the air was perfectly cool by comparison; and there Vanleigh found her a seat smiling occasionally at the new-comers who kept thronging upstairs to where Lady Rea was receiving—Sir Hampton now keeping an eye upon the couple, a flight of stain below him, and nodding encouragement whenever his eyes met those of his child.
“I received Sir Hampton’s note yesterday,” said Vanleigh at last, speaking slowly, and in a suppressed voice, as the guests passed on. “Don’t start—I am not going to make a scene. I only wish to tell you how happy you have made me, and that you shall find me patient and watchful of your every wish.”
“Masterly inactivity,” thought Tiny.