He had been sitting with his head slightly bent, as he spoke in a whisper to his beautiful companion. Her eyes were cast down, her fingers unconsciously pulled apart the petals of some geranium she held; her whole attitude bespoke a not unwilling listener. Georgina's salutation surprised both, for they had not seen her approach. They looked up.
"What do you say?" cried St. John. "Breaking somebody's heart? Whose? Yours?"
She laughed in derision, flirting some of the scent out of a golden phial she had taken up. "Sarah, you should have more consideration," she continued. "It is all very well when Lady Anne's not present, but when she is—There! you need not go into a flaming fever and fling your angry eyes upon me. Look at Sarah's face, Mr. St. John."
Mr. St. John walked away, as though he had not heard. Sarah caught hold of her cousin.
"There is a limit to endurance, Georgina. If you pursue this style of conversation to me—learnt, as I have repeatedly told you, from the housemaids, unless it is inherent," she added, in deep scorn—"I shall make an appeal to the dean."
"Make it," said Georgina, laughing. "It was too bad of you, Sarah, with his future wife present. She'll go to bed and dream of jealousy."
Quitting her cousin, she went straight up to Henry Arkell. "Why do you mope like this?" she cried.
"Mope!" he repeated.
He had been at another table leaning his head upon his hand. It was aching much: and he told her so.
"Oh, Harry, I am sorry; I forgot your fall. Will you sing a song?"