Mrs. Byng removes her eyes from the daughter, and fixes them with a scarcely less degree of interest upon the then indicated parent.
"So that is the mother, is it? a very nice-looking woman, and what beautiful white hair! Mrs. Le——what did you say their name was? Ah! Willy has seen us, poor boy!"—laughing—"how guilty he looks! here he comes!"
And in point of fact the young man, having given a very indubitable start and said something hurried to his companion, is seen advancing quasi-carelessly to meet the two persons, the object of whose observation he has for some minutes so unconsciously been.
"Is not this a coincidence?" cries Mrs. Byng, with a rather nervously-playful accent; "it is a coincidence, though it may not look like one! But do not be afraid; we know our places, we are not going to offer to join you!"
"What should I be afraid of?" replies the young man, the colour—always as ready as a school miss's to put him to shame—mantling in his handsome smooth cheeks. "I am like the Spanish hidalgo, who never knew what fear was till he snuffed a candle with his fingers. So you and Jim are having a happy day among the pictures. Do not you like 'Spring'? I love her, though I am sure she was a real baggage!"
But this ingenious attempt to divert the current of his parents' ideas into another channel is scarcely so successful as it deserves.
"Will not you introduce me to her?" she asks eagerly, and not heeding, evidently not even hearing, the empty question contained in the last half of his speech; "does she know that I am your mother? Will not you introduce me to her?"
It seems a simple and natural request enough, and yet the young man perceptibly hesitates. He even tries to turn it off by a clumsy and entirely pointless jest.
"Introduce you to her? to whom? to 'Spring'? I am really afraid that my acquaintance with her scarcely justifies such a liberty!"
A look of surprise and of natural annoyance clouds the cheerful eagerness of Mrs. Byng's face.