"That is to say, you had a desperate affair with her?"
"It seems to me that you jump at conclusions."
"Not at all. She is interested in you; I have eyes in my head."
"I should think that you had," laughed Geoffrey, as their glances met.
"And I have noticed that she has been continually looking over toward us. The old Duke has not been lively, you see, and that Saturday Reviewer is a disagreeable thing. How she has longed to have you next to her!"
"You flatter me, Mrs. Carey," answered Geoffrey, who was annoyed, as all men are, when they are accused of being too fascinating. "Miss Windsor and I were great friends, nothing more."
"Why, my dear boy, of course you were nothing more. To be great friends is enough; so you own up to the serious affair? You think that she isn't watching you—look."
Geoffrey glanced up and caught Miss Windsor's eye. She colored, turned away, and said something to the Saturday Reviewer, who had before found his satirical remarks thrown away on his distraite hostess.
"See that fine color mounting to her cheeks," said Mrs. Carey.
"She sees that we are talking about her and feels a little self-consciousness. The Americans are not so self-possessed as we are."