“Well?”
“As though he loved you—there!”
The colour deepened in Walsh’s weather-beaten face, ruddy at all times from the park air, where he drove in every sort of weather; even his bald crown reddened. He was undoubtedly pleased; but he said, with an effort at lightness:
“That’s just like Wayne; he’s a great joker.”
Mrs. Blair flashed back upon them now, and charged them with treasonable confidences. The old banker had detached himself some time earlier and joined the circle which Colonel Craighill was addressing in his semi-oratorical key on the opposite side of the room. Mrs. Craighill and Walsh, having satisfied their own imaginary social hunger, remained with Mrs. Blair while she had her coffee.
“You must come up and see the dance. All the prettiest girls have come. You must go up to the ballroom, too, Mr. Walsh. And I’m going to tell you now, for fear I forget it, how pleased I am that you came.”
“You were kind to ask me. It has been a privilege to meet Mrs. Craighill.”
Walsh stood up abruptly, bowed with a quaint touch of manner to each of the ladies, pleaded an engagement downtown, and left them.
Mrs. Craighill was surprised to find herself turning her head to watch his burly figure through the door.