When she looked up with the air of surprise mixed with deprecation and ironical disclaimer which she had prepared while these things were passing through her mind, young Mavering had reached them, and had paused in a moment's hesitation before his father. With a bow of affectionate burlesque, from which he lifted his face to break into laughter at the look in all their eyes, he handed the tattered nosegay to his father.
“Oh, how delightful! how delicate! how perfect!” Mrs. Pasmer confided to herself.
“I think this must be for you, Mrs. Pasmer,” said the elder Mavering, offering her the bouquet, with a grave smile at his son's whim.
“Oh no, indeed!” said Mrs. Pasmer. “For Mrs. Saintsbury, of course.”
She gave it to her, and Mrs. Saintsbury at once transferred it to Miss Pasmer.
“They wished me to pass this to you, Alice;” and at this consummation Dan Mavering broke into another happy laugh.
“Mrs. Saintsbury, you always do the right thing at once,” he cried.
“That's more than I can say of you, Mr. Mavering,” she retorted.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Mavering!” said the girl, receiving the flowers. It was as if she had been too intent upon them and him to have noticed the little comedy that had conveyed them to her.