He waited, smiling, composed, watchful; not helping her by a word or sign, and she could not read his eyes when she looked into them.
“Do you know Lord Clancarty?” she asked bluntly.
He took time to consider, studying, meanwhile, every detail of her charming, ingenuous face and perfect figure.
“I have met him,” he said deliberately, “in Dublin and in Paris.” Betty’s agitation was quite apparent, but she commanded herself and looked up bravely.
“He is my husband,” she said simply.
Mr. Trevor smiled involuntarily.
“He is a happy man,” he said gallantly.
She made an impatient gesture, laughing and blushing.
“Tell me how he looks?” she asked; “I have never seen him since he was fifteen and I eleven. Is he a bugbear? They would have me believe so.”
“On the contrary, I have always thought him handsome, my lady,” Mr. Trevor said, smiling imperturbably, “and altogether the most companionable man I know.”