“Oh it doesn’t matter after all.” Our friend was perfectly conscious that nothing would suit him less than to have undisturbed possession of Mrs. Headway.
She came out with him into the antechamber. Mr. Max, the courier, was fortunately not there. She lingered a little; she appeared to have more to say. “On the contrary he likes you to come,” she then continued; “he wants to study my friends.”
“To study them?”
“He wants to find out about me, and he thinks they may tell him something. Some day he’ll ask you right out ‘What sort of a woman is she anyway?’”
“Hasn’t he found out yet?”
“He doesn’t understand me,” said Mrs. Headway, surveying the front of her dress. “He has never seen any one like me.”
“I should imagine not!”
“So he’ll just try to find out from you.”
“Well then he shall find out,” Littlemore returned. “I’ll just tell him you’re the most charming woman in Europe.”
“That ain’t a description! Besides, he knows it. He wants to know if I’m respectable.”