"I shall marry no one," she answered, "until Lena's future is settled."
"And if Lena marries Carringford?"
"Then you shall have your answer. You must see that a young man like you would look rather ridiculous going about with a middle-aged wife and a grown-up step-daughter."
He saw her policy; it was odd how well they saw through each other; he recognized her adroitness and her falseness, but it made no difference in his point of view; to marry her would be a worldly-wise transaction that he did not mean to forego if he could help it, and he wanted Lena out of the way. After all, he thought, if Margaret didn't marry Carringford, she would probably do still better—a handsome girl, well born, and probably well off when her father came back. And even if she were in love now, what did it matter? She would be all the better for a disappointment, perhaps: a woman who had not been made to suffer generally became a trifle heartless. Besides, what was the girl to him?
"Where is Margaret Vincent staying?" asked Mrs. Lakeman. "When I invited her to Scotland I telegraphed to the theatre, not knowing her private address, and she telegraphed back without giving it, which I thought rather impertinent. Tom, too, has only thought proper to send a telegram every other day lately."
"He has been too much occupied with other things," Farley said, with a little smile.
"Where is she staying?"
"In Louise Hunstan's house, in Great College Street. Louise is at Bayreuth."
"That's a good thing. I'm going"—and the tone of her voice showed that she meant to be victorious. "You may give me a kiss"—and she put up her face—"a matter-of-fact salute on my cheek would be highly appropriate to the situation."
"Stay a moment—when are you going back?" he asked, as he followed her to the door.