In a moment the girl came into the drawing-room, but on seeing Bernard she stopped, with her hand on the door-knob. Her mother went to her and kissed her.
“It ‘s Mr. Longueville, dearest—he has found us out.”
“Found us out?” repeated Angela, with a little laugh. “What a singular expression!”
She was blushing as she had blushed when she first saw him at Blanquais. She seemed to Bernard now to have a great and peculiar brightness—something she had never had before.
“I certainly have been looking for you,” he said. “I was greatly disappointed when I found you had taken flight from Blanquais.”
“Taken flight?” She repeated his words as she had repeated her mother’s. “That is also a strange way of speaking!”
“I don’t care what I say,” said Bernard, “so long as I make you understand that I have wanted very much to see you again, and that I have wondered every day whether I might venture—”
“I don’t know why you should n’t venture!” she interrupted, giving her little laugh again. “We are not so terrible, are we, mamma?—that is, when once you have climbed our five flights of stairs.”
“I came up very fast,” said Bernard, “and I find your apartment magnificent.”
“Mr. Longueville must come again, must he not, dear?” asked mamma.