"Mrs. Linden thinks she would like to try that."
If ever black eyes were thoroughly puzzled, that were Miss Essie's. She glanced from Mr. Linden to Faith, who had fallen back towards another part of the room, but whose cheek gave token of her having heard and noticed. Miss Essie's eyes came back; she looked a little mortified.
"I see you have not forgiven me," she said. "But, Mr. Linden, I only spoke of what I had seen. I had been unfortunate; and I am sure I needn't confine myself to the past tense! I knew nothing, you know."
"Miss Essie," he said, smiling, "your frame for the picture may be correct, but the picture will be different. As you will see when you come."
"Then you will let me come?"—"I will let you come. Only if you hear that Faith is not at home, do not feel sure of the fact till you have looked in my study."
Miss Essie's face for a moment was notable. She was in a certain way satisfied, and yet it wore a sort of compound mortification inexplicable very likely, to the lady herself, and perhaps, that only an acute eye of another would have read.
Before this dialogue had reached so much of a culmination, Mr. Simlins, who had been standing looking at everything like a good-humoured bear, made his way across the room, and through the people to Faith, where she had shrunk back out of the way.
"I can't stay here all the afternoon!" said he, "and I s'pose it aint expected of me. Can't you step over yonder and let a man have a chance to say a word to you, before I go?"
Faith agreed to this proposition, not knowing that it was going to take her literally into a corner; but to one of the further corners of the room Mr. Simlins strode, and Faith went after him; and there he sat down and she was fain to do likewise. Then he wasn't ready.
"I had somethin' to say to you," said he, "but I don't know how to say it!"—"Try, Mr. Simlins," said Faith, smiling.