Hyacinth delayed for a minute to answer her, and when at last he did so it was without looking at her: “I don’t know; I can’t make it out.”
“Well, I can, then!” And Millicent jerked him round toward her and inspected him with her big bright eyes. “You silly baby, has he been serving you?” She pressed her question upon him; she asked if that was what disagreed with him. His lips gave her no answer, but apparently, after an instant, she found one in his face. “Has he been making up to her ladyship—is that his game?” she broke out. “Do you mean to say she’d look at the likes of him?”
“The likes of him? He’s as fine a man as stands!” said Hyacinth. “They have the same views, they are doing the same work.”
“Oh, he hasn’t changed his opinions, then—not like you?”
“No, he knows what he wants; he knows what he thinks.”
“Very much the same work, I’ll be bound!” cried Millicent, in large derision. “He knows what he wants, and I dare say he’ll get it.”
Hyacinth got up, turning away from her; but she also rose, and passed her hand into his arm. “It’s their own business; they can do as they please.”
“Oh, don’t try to be a saint; you put me out of patience!” the girl responded, with characteristic energy. “They’re a precious pair, and it would do me good to hear you say so.”
“A man shouldn’t turn against his friends,” Hyacinth went on, with desperate sententiousness.
“That’s for them to remember; there’s no danger of your forgetting it.” They had begun to walk, but she stopped him; she was suddenly smiling at him, and her face was radiant. She went on, with caressing inconsequence: “All that you have told me—it has made you nicer.”