Mr. Longdon, who, as compared with her, might have struck a spectator as infernally subtle, took an instant to think. “I’ve never met Mr. Mitchett before.”
“Well, he always thinks one doesn’t like him,” Nanda explained. “But one does. One ought to,” she added.
Her companion had another pause. “He likes YOU.”
Oh Mr. Longdon needn’t have hesitated! “I know he does. He has told mother. He has told lots of people.”
“He has told even you,” Mr. Longdon smiled.
“Yes—but that isn’t the same. I don’t think he’s a bit dreadful,” she pursued. Still, there was a greater interest. “Do you like Mr. Van?”
This time her interlocutor indeed hung fire. “How can I tell? He dazzles me.”
“But don’t you like that?” Then before he could really say: “You’re afraid he may be false?”
At this he fairly laughed. “You go to the point!” She just coloured to have amused him so, but he quickly went on: “I think one has a little natural nervousness at being carried off one’s feet. I’m afraid I’ve always liked too much to see where I’m going.”
“And you don’t with him?” She spoke with her curious hard interest. “I understand. But I think I like to be dazzled.”