But Mrs. Potten was mistaken. Gwendolen's vivid colour came not from the cause which Mrs. Potten imagined. Gwendolen's colour came simply from alarm at the sight of Mrs. Potten and Mr. Harding speaking to one another, and this alarm was not lessened when Mrs. Potten exclaimed—
"Mr. Harding has been telling me that you made ninety-three pounds, ten shillings and threepence from the Sale?"
"Oh, did we?" murmured Gwendolen, and her colour came and went away.
"We did, thanks to Mrs. Potten's purchases," said Harding, with obsequious playfulness, and he took his leave.
Then Mrs. Potten leaned over the car towards Gwendolen and whispered—
"I was waiting till he had gone, as I don't know if you intend all Oxford to know——"
Gwendolen's lips were pouted into a terrified expression.
"Your engagement, I mean," explained Mrs. Potten.
Gwendolen breathed again, and now she laughed. Oh, why had she been so frightened? That silly little affair of yesterday was over, it was dead and buried! It was absolutely safe, and here was the first real proper congratulations and acknowledgment of her importance.
"You've got a charming man, very charming," said Mrs. Potten.