Maisie returned to her seat, flushed, bright-eyed, distinctly triumphant, and Mellenger realized that, between himself and Maisie, poor Tamea had been thoroughly crushed, humiliated beyond words. She contented herself with looking at Dan very curiously, as if she were seeing him for the first time.
“Now,” Mellenger remarked dryly, “I think we’ll all feel equal to imbibing a modicum of soup. Maisie—pardon my effrontery in calling you by your first name on such brief acquaintance, but then those who love Dan always inspire me with a desire to know them better and act as if I had known them always—how long have you and Dan been engaged?”
Dan glared at him. Maisie, scenting the deviltry behind his query, liked him for it. “I really do not remember, Mark—pardon my effrontery in addressing you by your first name on such brief acquaintance, but it seems I’ve known you always. Dan, when did you first propose to me?”
“Maisie, you’re an imp.”
“A benevolent imp, at any rate,” Mellenger adjured him. “She goes out of her way to make everybody around her comfortable.”
“Did Dan tell you he desired you, Maisie?” Tamea was speaking now.
“What makes you ask that, Tamea?”
“I inquire to know. This is important.”
“Well, Tamea, I don’t suppose Dan ever told me in so many words——”
“Ah! With his eyes, then?”