“Do sit down,” said he casting a furtive, fearful glance on Dacre.
He was in constant horrid dread of a new sensation, they were so diverse, so swift in succession, one never knew when one might not come on, and it might be embarrassing if set going in the presence of a lady.
Dacre, however, his familiar being otherwise engaged, was quiescent, and Gedge breathed freer.
“May I have Gwen for the afternoon?” asked Mrs. Fellowes.
She was amazed to see the hesitation on Gwen’s face and the actual look of dismay on Dacre’s, but she speedily fathomed the reason.
“I knew it,” she said to herself, “Gwen is the mover in the whole business.” Then aloud, “Gwen, you will come, dear, Mr. Gedge’s eyes have said ‘yes’ already.”
Mr. Gedge had a lively though bashful admiration for the little American, he beamed his assent in quite a sprightly way. “It will be one less to cope with,” he reflected, “and I can perhaps get my poor Amy’s letter finished.”
The devil, in a specially evil moment, had revealed to Mr. Gedge’s pupils the existence of this sweet young woman, and had thereby added another hundredweight to the millstone already encircling the neck of her affianced.
Mrs. Fellowes looked with sudden sympathy at the young man, then with twinkling eyes at his charges, he seemed so ludicrously out of proportion to his task.
“Poor thing!” She thought it with such amused vehemence it almost got spoken aloud. “Poor thing, you shall have a peaceful afternoon for once!”