Stephanie had risen—now she paused, and a smile flitted across her face.
"As you hope it is—and hope also that it will be successful, n'est ce pas?" she said, bending down and kissing her.
"What I hope, dear, is that you will do the best for yourself," Mrs. Mourraille answered—"and you can alone decide that best, and hope to remain satisfied with the decision. Go and see what Harry wants; it was a great deal for him to come here, and you should not keep him waiting."
"Particularly as he may change his mind if I keep him waiting long!" she laughed; and with a little caressing touch to her mother's cheek, she went down to the living-room.
Lorraine was standing with his back to the fireplace, nervously drawing his gloves back and forth through his fingers. He came forward and offered her his hand—and after just a second's hesitation, she touched it momentarily.
It was as though she said:
"As the hostess, I cannot do less, but I don't in the least fancy the doing."
"Will you sit down, Mr. Lorraine?" she said perfunctorily, letting herself sink into a chair with the lithe grace he remembered so well.
She was perfectly at ease—with the air of one who entertains a casual visitor.