“Yes.”
“A secret to share with a pal.”
“How amazingly quick you are!”
“I can guess your secret, my dear young friend.”
He flushed at a faintly derisive inflection. She continued in the same tone:
“The nice little girls whom I had picked out for your inspection and selection may be left in peace, so far as you are concerned.”
“How did you guess?”
“You have a delightfully ingenuous face, Lionel. It is at once an asset and a liability. Let me do some more guessing. Put me right, if I am wrong. Poor Mr. Moxon might be a happy man to-day if you had stayed in India. Well, my dear,” her tone became maternal, “you have chosen a pretty, good, amiable girl, but can I—can I congratulate you with all my heart?”
The adjectives rankled, but he remained silent. Margot was reflecting that revenge, so dear to slighted women, was a weapon that would be wielded quite adequately by Sir Geoffrey Pomfret. She continued sweetly:
“I want to congratulate you, but I see so plainly all the obstacles. You rode straight to-day. I am wondering how you will negotiate the fences between your father and his parson’s daughter.”