"I forgive you," she said. "It is so nice to be young."
During dinner Mr Davison scarcely spoke a word. His feelings were too strong for speech--at least, at such a gathering. The young lady, observing his silence, commented on it in what seemed almost a spirit of gratuitous malice.
"I am afraid, Mr Davison, we do not please you."
"Mdlle. de Fontanes!"
"Or perhaps you are not so eloquent as Mr Lintorn--ever?"
"No, never."
Mdlle. de Fontanes spoke so hesitatingly, and in such low tones, that only Mr Davison caught the words she uttered next.
"Perhaps--there is a certain manner--which--only comes with age."
"You seem to think that I am nothing but a boy. I will prove to you that at least in some things I am a man."
She looked up at him and smiled. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were bright. To make up, perhaps, for his lack of conversation, he had been drinking all the time. When they re-entered the salon the card-table was arranged for play. Mr Davison went up to it at once.