“I will see what mamma says.”
“Shall I ask her?”
“Oh, perhaps not,” said the girl, repressing his ardour, but not severely.
XVIII.
They were going to have some theatricals at one of the cottages, and the lady at whose house they were to be given made haste to invite all the picnic party before it dispersed. Mrs. Pasmer accepted with a mental reservation, meaning to send an excuse later if she chose; and before she decided the point she kept her husband from going after dinner into the reading-room, where he spent nearly all his time over a paper and a cigar, or in sitting absolutely silent and unoccupied, and made him go to their own room with her.
“There is something that I must speak to you about,” she said, closing the door, “and you must decide for yourself whether you wish to let it go any further.”
“What go any further?” asked Mr. Pasmer, sitting down and putting his hand to the pocket that held his cigar-case with the same series of motions.
“No, don't smoke,” she said, staying his hand impatiently. “I want you to think.”
“How can I think if I don't smoke?”