“And you?” she said after a moment. “You have done great things. You have given me no opportunity of forgetting you,” she added, smiling. “I’ve read all your articles, and your book. The book was beautiful.”
The sudden seriousness in her shining eyes gave him the sense of having received a great compliment. He remembered that he had felt flattered when she had expressed her admiration for his work years ago as a mere slip of a girl.
They talked for some time. Carey forgot that he had thought her changed. Her languid manner had vanished; she was eager and responsive as he remembered her. She had the same pretty attitude of attention too, the same vivacious gesture of agreement or dissent.
He was telling her of some experience of his in Benares, when he noticed her husband leisurely making his way towards them. He came and stood before Bridget.
“I’m exceedingly sorry—” he began, and glanced at Carey, who rose and moved back a step.
Something in the man’s voice made his attitude a little stiff.
“The carriage is here?” she asked, rising. Carey made a slight involuntary movement—he hardly knew why—as she spoke.
“Good-night,” she said, turning to him. She gave him her hand with a smile. For a second she hesitated, then turned away. Carey thought she blushed a little.
She had not introduced him to her husband, nor had she asked him to call. He thought of this as he watched her, followed by her husband, threading her way towards Mrs. Edgbaston Smith, with a smile, and a gracious little bow here and there.
He reflected that he would probably meet her at the Mansfields.