“You two were coming to call, weren’t you?” he asked bluntly.
Virginia glanced at her grandfather, and the colonel shook his head.
“Some other day. It’s”—he looked at his watch—“it’s near dinner-time now, Jinny.”
She assented, and they drew away graciously. In spite of that first happy moment when the impression seemed so good, there was something wrong. William felt it. He glanced nervously at his wife, but she was smiling. He had never seen her look more lovely or less dangerous. He drew a long breath of relief and urged the Denbighs to come soon.
“Some evening,” he suggested. “Father will be delighted to see you, colonel, and Fanchon will sing for you both.”
“Then we’ll surely come soon,” said Virginia.
They managed to get away, and William had an uneasy feeling as he saw them retreating toward their home. He was positive that they had been coming to call. It all embarrassed him. It had been an ordeal, and he had felt it keenly. He had always held a good opinion of himself. The successful eldest son of the family, he had had the éclat of his success at home; but to-day, face to face with Virginia, he had felt—he grew hot all over at the thought of how he had felt.
His wife’s voice startled him.
“Are you going back to the house?” she asked in an odd tone.
He started, looking at her reluctantly.