“And you are sure she would?” asked Madeline, suddenly awaking to the fact that Miss Ford’s feelings in the matter had been entirely left out of the question.
Despard smiled.
“Do you mean am I sure she cares for me?” he said. “Oh, yes—as for that—”
“I don’t like a girl who—who lets it be seen if she cares for a man,” she said.
Mr Norreys turned upon her.
“Lets it be seen,” he repeated angrily. “Maddie, you put things very disagreeably. Would I—tell me, is it likely that I would take to a girl so utterly devoid of delicacy as your words sound? And is it so improbable that a girl would care for me?” He smiled in spite of himself, and Mrs Selby’s answering smile as she murmured: “I did not mean that, you know,” helped to smooth him down. “She did her best to make me think she detested me,” he added. “But—”
“Ah, yes, but—” said his sister fondly. “Then it is settled, Despard,” she went on. “I shall tackle Mrs Englewood in my own way. You can trust me. You don’t know where Miss Ford is at present?” she added.
He shook his head despondently.
“Not the ghost of an idea. I didn’t try to hear. I thought I didn’t want to know, you see. But—Maddie,” he added, half timidly, “you’ll write at once?”
“As soon as I possibly can,” she replied kindly, for glancing at him she saw that he looked really ill and worn. “And,” she went on, “as my reward, you will go with me to the Densters’ garden-party this afternoon. Charles can’t, and I hate going alone. I don’t know them—it is their first year here, though everybody says they are very nice people.”