“Kindly, I know,” said he.
“You were rather magisterial, I thought; but at least you knew what you were talking about. Tristram here says that’s not necessary.”
Mr. Germain blinked. He never looked at Tristram, and did not know. “Fortunate, if true,” he said coldly; “but I cannot myself afford to believe it.”
“Ah, Germain, you’re too rich, you see,” Tristram said, as lightly as he could, and withdrew to a doorway, whence he could see Mary. Lady Barbara inquired, with eyes and eyebrows, to no purpose. Mr. Germain was blandly obtuse.
“She’s charming,” said the old gentlewoman, and caught him unawares. He started, coloured.
“Yes, yes, I find her so—hourly.”
“Who dresses her?” Mr. Germain raised his head.
“Really—. I believe there are consultations—. She looks well to-night. A happy nature, my friend.”
“Charming, charming,” Lady Barbara murmured; and then—with a look from the door to her friend. “What is he doing now?” Mr. Germain grew alert.
“Tristram? He goes his way, I believe. He was bickering with poor Jess the other day. Jess is the soul of good-nature; but there are limits.”