“It is the custom of the land,” he assured her.
“Then I must not tell Dan Pritchard I love him?”
“Not unless he tells you first that he loves you.” She laughed softly but scornfully. “Has he told you that he loves you?”
“With his eyes—yes.”
“Eyes are not admissible as evidence. What you mistook for love may be admiration. Until he speaks with his tongue you must remain silent, else will you be dishonored.”
They had reached the dining room. Maisie and Dan were following, in frozen silence. Mellenger tucked her chair in under Tamea, and over her head he winked at Maisie and Dan. There was a terrifying silence until after Julia had served the soup. Then Tamea spoke.
“It appears,” she said very contritely, “that I have been stupid and of gross manners. I have offended you, Maisie, and to you, dear Dan, I am as a dishonored woman. I am truly sorry. Will you both forgive, please?”
“You poor, bewildered dear,” said Maisie, and laughed. To Mellenger’s amazement the laugh held real humor. She got up, walked around the table to Tamea’s side and kissed her. “Of course you are forgiven. You did not understand. How could you know, Tamea, that Dan and I are to be married? Nobody told you, I dare say. Dan, darling, did you tell Tamea of our engagement?”
“Of course, I didn’t,” he began. He was at once amazed, indignant and profoundly complimented. “Why, Maisie——”
“Shut up, fool!” Mellenger’s lips formed the words without speaking them. “Do you want to spill the beans?”