"What do you say? Do speak up, dear."
"Jam, ma," repeated her daughter; "he wants jam on the first piece."
"Well, give him it then. Only this once, now, darling. You shouldn't tease him so, Mary—remember he's a very little boy."
Mary minor leant towards him, and Conrad thought she muttered "Little pig!"
"Then you have nothing to do in London?" resumed the lady, as he followed her from the room.
"Quite all that I hoped to do in London I have done this afternoon," he smiled. "As a matter of fact, I don't suppose I shall call on anybody else before I leave." But he saw clearly that she wanted to know the women who were "high up," and he was self-reproachful. Distressed, he wished that he had made no reference to them in his letter.
"Sha'n't you even go to see your cousins?" she persisted. "But you say you're not sure if they're in town? If they are, any day would suit me. If they would drop me a line——"
"No," he said, "I'm not sure; I haven't heard from either of them since they left Sweetbay." He was at the point of mentioning Nina's address; he reminded himself that he had a duty to Nina too.
Yet a moment later he succumbed. The remembrance of what he had written, even civility itself, prevented his parrying so keen an aim as Mrs. Barchester-Bailey's. He mentioned the address, and he said how pretty the plain children were, and regretted that her husband was not in. He sat smiling at boredom for five minutes longer, and when he escaped at last he had the reward of knowing that she thought he admired her very much. He had owed her that.
As he felt the air in his lungs he thanked heaven. Well, he would explain the occurrence to Nina, who would consider him an idiot, and tell her to expect a speedy visit. The rest lay with the visitor herself—with her powers to please. For his own part, never, never did he want to see her again. He walked fast, her image still pursuing him. What an exhausting woman!