“And you do care for me—just a little?”
Félicia’s face assumed an expression of intense thought. “Well, yes,” she said at last. “I think I can maybe say that I do care for you—just a little.”
She flashed a glance at Usk which intoxicated him with delight, and nothing was further from his mind than the idea that her answer might be literally true. “All right. I’ll take it in instalments,” he said joyously. “Un peu—beaucoup—point—no, that’s not what I meant. What an idiot I am! You care for me, and that’s enough.”
“Yes, but Maimie don’t,” said Félicia dolorously.
“Oh, bother Maimie! No, I don’t mean that either. Of course she can’t bear losing you. But we’ll both be awfully nice to her, won’t we? Now that my mind is at rest about you, I’ll cultivate her—make up to her, in fact.”
“Not while I’m around, if you please.”
“Now is it likely—if you were anywhere near?”
“I guess I’ll go and tell her,” said Félicia. “Isn’t that your parents coming in from their ride? You go and have an affecting meeting with them, and break the news, and I’ll do likewise.”
Maimie was indoors, kept in by a bad cold, which she had caught when called out of bed one night to prescribe remedies for Félicia’s headache. Nothing could possibly have been better timed than that cold, Félicia thought complacently, though she had shown a strong sense of injury when it had prevented Maimie from coming out with her. She dashed upstairs and into Maimie’s room, and shot her bolt.
“Wake up, Maimie! Usk’s come back, and we are engaged!”