“Well, so long.”
James Bush walked out with somewhat the air of a whipped cur. In a moment the servant passed through the room.
“Has Mr. Bush gone?” asked Frank.
“Yes. And good riddance to bad rubbish.”
Frank looked at her reflectively.
“Ah, Fanny, if there were no rogues in the world, life would really be too difficult for honest men.”
XV
Six months went by, and again the gracious airs of summer blew into Miss Ley’s dining-room in Old Queen Street. She sat at luncheon with Mrs. Castillyon wonderfully rejuvenated by a winter in the East; for Paul, characteristically anxious to combine self-improvement with pleasure, had suggested that they should mark their reconciliation by a journey to India, where they might enjoy a second, pleasanter honeymoon, and he at the same time study various questions which would be to him of much political value. Mrs. Castillyon, in a summer frock, had all her old daintiness of a figurine in Dresden china, and her former vivacity was more charming by reason of an added tenderness. She emphasized her change of mind by allowing her hair to regain its natural colour.
“D’you like it, Mary?” she asked. “Paul says it makes me look ten years younger. And I’ve stopped slapping up.”
“Entirely?” asked Miss Ley, with a smile.