"It's jealousy," he said, lightly.
"I suppose so. Of course it was nice of you to compromise me this way—it's delicious, in fact—but I didn't think it would scare off the others."
"You think I have compromised you?"
"You know you have, terribly. I'm engaged to all of them—everybody, in fact, except you—"
"But they know my presence here is unintentional."
"Oh! Is it, really?" She laughed.
"Don't you believe it is?"
"Goodness! Don't spoil all my pleasure. If ever I saw two cringing, self-conscious criminals, it's you and Papa Montegut. Men are so deceitful. Heigh-ho! I thought this was going to be splendid, but you play cards all day with Mr. La Branche while I die of loneliness."
"What would you like me to do?" he faltered.
"I don't know. It's very dull. Couldn't you sally forth and drag in
Lecompte or Murray or Raymond?" She looked up with eyes beaming.
"Bernie was furious, wasn't he?"