“No, but seriously—Mary is such a problem to me.”
“Well, she’s a beauty, like a blue and white moonlight in mid-winter; and has a tantalising sort of elusiveness. I detest Englishwomen as a rule, but I never met a woman before who talked so loud and at the same time suggested an almost exaggerated shrinking and modesty. The combination is certainly striking.”
“It isn’t that she’s really cold,” said Lee, with the deep subtlety of her sex, “but she’s never met the right man. I only hope she won’t fall in love with you, but she admires you tremendously.”
“Ah!”
“Do pay her a lot of compliments and show her a lot of little attentions; Englishwomen get so tired of doing all the work. But don’t make love to her.”
“I have no intention of making love to her,” said Randolph; but if he had a deeper meaning he kept it out of his eyes—those eyes which had lost their nervous facility of expression, and rarely looked otherwise than cold and grey and thoughtful.
Tom arrived next morning, talkative, restless, and irresponsible; but although he frankly avowed himself as much in love as ever, he hastened to add that he would not mention it any oftener than he could help. For several days Lee neglected the other guests and devoted herself to her old friends. The last three had certainly brought the breezes of the Pacific with them, and they talked California until Lady Mary, who had joined them several times, declared she could stand it no longer.
“I’ll go with you gladly if Mrs. Montgomery will take me; and I intend to make love to her, you may be sure,” she said to Lee, “but I really can’t stand feeling so out of it. And besides you are all so intimate and happy together, it’s almost a sin to intrude. You’re looking much brighter since they came.”
“It has done me good to see them again, and it’s made me want to go back more than ever.”
“I can understand. But it’s a pity Cecil can’t go with you. He’s looking rather glum. Is that what’s the matter with him?”