Mitchy, with his eyes on her, became radiant to interpret. “He knows that he’s pierced to the heart!”
“The matter with him, as you call it,” Vanderbank brought out, “is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.” He looked at her as with a hope she’d understand. “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!”
“Precisely,” Mitchy continued; “the victim done for by one glance of the goddess!”
Nanda, motionless in her chair, fixed her other friend with clear curiosity. “‘Beautiful’? Why beautiful?”
Vanderbank, about to speak, checked himself.
“I won’t spoil it. Have it from HIM!”—and, returning to their friend, he this time went out.
Mitchy and Nanda looked at each other. “But isn’t it rather awful?” Mitchy demanded.
She got up without answering; she slowly came away from the table. “I think I do know if I like him.”
“Well you may,” Mitchy exclaimed, “after his putting before you probably, on the whole, the greatest of your triumphs.”
“And I also know, I think, Mr. Mitchy, that I like YOU.” She spoke without attention to this hyperbole.