"You?"
It would be difficult to give his inflection. It expressed doubt, incredulity, as if Beeston distrusted his own ears.
"You trying?"
"Why, yes," said David, his air puzzled; "why not? Varick's a friend of mine, isn't he? I only wondered whether he'd care to come." Then with an unexpectedness that made her gasp David added: "Besides, I thought Bab might like to have him. They were friends at Mrs. Tilney's, you know."
Friends? Bab with difficulty managed to hide the conflict of her emotions. Again she glanced swiftly at David. She wondered, had he known all, whether he would even consider asking Varick. But this was the least of it. Did she herself want him? Was she ready to see him again? It was queer that though she had resolved to evict him from her mind the mere thought of him should so confuse her! Just then she was aware that Beeston shot a glance at her. Afterward he gazed at David briefly.
His air was absorbed. It was as if he debated something, as if some disclosure hovered on his lips. And what the disclosure was Bab had little doubt. She had not forgotten yet what had occurred the day she had driven with him alone. Was that what he meant to divulge? What indeed seemed curious was her hope that he would not blurt it out before David. Why that hope? Why her dislike to have David hear? After all he was only her cousin—nothing but a relative. Guardedly Bab watched old Beeston.
"H'm!" he said presently. "Then you haven't asked him yet?"
David said no. He was waiting, he said, to decide, and again Beeston grunted.
"Decide? Decide what?" he asked. "Whether you want him? That's it, isn't it?" he mumbled.
David shook his head.