“Why he’s a père de famille. They’ve privileges,” Paul explained. And then quickly: “Will you go to see places with me?” he asked.
“Anything you like!” she smiled. “I know what you mean, that girls have to have a lot of people—” Then she broke off: “I don’t know; I’m free. I’ve always been like that—I can go about with any one. I’m so glad to meet you,” she added with a sweet distinctness that made those near her turn round.
“Let me at least repay that speech by taking you out of this squash,” her friend said. “Surely people aren’t happy here!”
“No, they’re awfully mornes, aren’t they? But I’m very happy indeed and I promised Mr. St. George to remain in this spot till he comes back. He’s going to take me away. They send him invitations for things of this sort—more than he wants. It was so kind of him to think of me.”
“They also send me invitations of this kind—more than I want. And if thinking of you will do it—!” Paul went on.
“Oh I delight in them—everything that’s life—everything that’s London!”
“They don’t have private views in Asia, I suppose,” he laughed. “But what a pity that for this year, even in this gorged city, they’re pretty well over.”
“Well, next year will do, for I hope you believe we’re going to be friends always. Here he comes!” Miss Fancourt continued before Paul had time to respond.
He made out St. George in the gaps of the crowd, and this perhaps led to his hurrying a little to say: “I hope that doesn’t mean I’m to wait till next year to see you.”
“No, no—aren’t we to meet at dinner on the twenty-fifth?” she panted with an eagerness as happy as his own.