He threw down the end of his cigarette, and looked round at the balcony window.
“No,” I said, “it isn’t time for the magic-lantern yet. Half an hour or so. And you’re almost sorry it’s all off?”
“Well, yes, in some ways,” he replied. “Of course, I get about more than she does, you know. Men do see more life than girls, don’t they, Butterfield? I went to a dance the other week, and of course Nellie can’t go to dances yet. But the men were another set, you know, and the women—well, it’s not much fun sitting out in a conservatory with strange women, is it?”
I reserved my opinion on the point, and he went on. He got very confidential, and by the time he had got through another cigarette he had my views as to whether it was possible to keep a surreptitious wife at Eton, whither he was to return shortly. I rather took to Master Ted, and decided that Carrie and Bassishaw should not have all the fun out of the magic-lantern. I would willingly have prolonged the talk, but Ted was glancing nervously at the window, and thought we really should go in—the youngsters would need looking after.
We went in, in time to catch them playing some game with a closed door and a piece of mistletoe. I saw no necessity for Carrie and Arthur Bassishaw joining in, but join in they did, while Miss Nellie looked intelligently patronising. Ted was right—women did grow up quickly. As I took a seat beside her I heard Ted whisper to Carrie that her brother was a brick.
“I hope you are having a good time, Nellie?” I said.
Nellie tossed her curls.
“Of course, real dances are more in your line,” I continued, “but you can spare an evening for the children now and then.”
Nellie bit her lip; she felt the point keenly.
“I don’t go to dances, Mr. Butterfield,” she said stiffly.