The girl shook her head, still smiling:
"You don't understand at all. There isn't the slightest sentiment between us. He's only thoroughly nice and agreeable, and he and I are most companionable. I hope nobody will be silly enough to hint anything of that sort to him. It would embarrass him dreadfully."
Mrs. Sprowl's smile was blandly tolerant:
"The man's in love with you. Didn't you know it?"
"But you are mistaken, dear Mrs. Sprowl. If it were true I would know it, I think."
"Nonsense! He told me so."
"Oh," said Strelsa in amazed consternation. She added: "If it is so I'd rather not speak of it, please."
Mrs. Sprowl eyed her with shifty but keen intelligence. "Little idiot," she thought; but her smile remained bland and calmly patronising.
For a second or two longer she studied the girl cautiously, trying to make up her mind whether there was really any character in Strelsa's soft beauty—anything firmer than material fastidiousness; anything more real than a natural and dainty reticence. Mrs. Sprowl could ride rough-shod over such details. But she was too wise to ride if there was any chance of a check from higher sources.
"If you married him it would be very gratifying to me," she said pleasantly. "Come; let's discuss the matter like sensible women. Shall we?"