“Thank you,” said Tod, laughing as much as the rest of them: and he drew away his hand.
“Johnny, that was a near shave,” he whispered, putting his arm within mine when we had pushed our way out. “Was it all guesswork? Who the deuce is the woman?”
“I know who I think she is. The Pells’ English governess, Miss Phebus.”
“Nonsense!”
“I do. She has got herself up in character and dyed her skin and hair.”
“Then, by George, if it is, she must have gathered an inkling of that matter in London.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Nor I. Johnny, some of these days I shall be bursting out with it to the Pater, and so get the weight off my mind.”
“I shouldn’t wonder. She says you have no caution.”
“It’s not pleasant, I can tell you, youngster, to live in dread that somebody else will bring it out to him. I’ll go in for this next dance, I think. Where’s Anna?”