But he would not follow that lead now. His instinct, her expression warned him; and he was fully resolved that when he spoke again, it would be to land this "wild sweet thing" fluttering safe in his net. However, his laugh was not quite natural.
"I may," said he, "get a telegram calling me off, at almost any minute. Let every one be kind to the stranger within the gates. May I nominate myself for luncheon?"
He was unanimously elected. This time, at parting, he did not touch his former betrothed's hand. His bow was accompanied by a slightly ironic smile; it seemed to say: "Since you prefer it this way, my dear ... But really--what's the use?"
Cally, snapping out the lights, felt vaguely depressed.
Next day, half an hour after luncheon, Hugo said to the greatest admirer he had on earth:
"Where did Carlisle get the notion that she wanted to go in for Settlement work?"
Mrs. Heth's reply, delivered with a beam, was masterly in its way.
"Why, my dear Hugo! Don't you know the sorry little makeshifts women go to, waiting for love to come to them?"
Hugo's comment intimated that he had fancied it was something of the sort. He then went out, to his future mother-in-law's regret; she often wondered how it was that she and Hugo had so few good talks.