“I’m sure Mr. Hermon never gives his personal appearance a thought,” Lorraine replied, “except when you insist upon harping on it.”
“I can’t help it. I feel he’s hemmed in with such a sticky, treacly, simpering amount of youthful adoration generally, that I simply have to rag him for his good!”
“It’s very kind of you to be so interested in my welfare”—a twinkle gleamed suddenly in his blue eyes—“I certainly like your way of adoring the best.”
“Ah”—with an answering twinkle—“I didn’t think you had guessed my secret. How embarrassing of you! You have positively driven me away.” She rose to her feet. “I must go, Lorry. I can’t sit out any more. He has discovered that I adore him.”
“You both seem rather imbecile tonight,” Lorraine commented; “but surely it needn’t drive you away, Hal.”
“I must go all the same. We have visitors coming. I shall run in again tomorrow. Be sure and ’phone me if there is anything I can do for you.” She kissed Lorraine, and turned to Hermon. “Good-bye. Don’t display all your best allurements to Lorraine this evening, because she isn’t strong enough for it. Remember my unhappy plight, and let one victim satisfy you for the present.”
“What about your victims?” he asked. “Dick is kicking the toes of his boots thin because he saw you yesterday with Sir Edwin Crathie.”
Hal coloured up, much to her own disgust, and greatly to Hermon’s enjoyment, who immediately followed up his advantage with:
“I suppose we shall all have to cry small now, because of the right honourable gentleman.”
“It will be a puzzler for you to cry small,” was her rather feeble retort, as she passed out.