Young Mavering's was radiant. “I'll be back in just half a minute,” he said, and he took a gay leave of them in running to speak to another student at the opposite end of the hall.
III.
“You must allow me to get you something to eat first, Mrs. Pasmer,” said the elder Mavering.
“Oh no, thank you,” Mrs. Pasmer began. But she changed her mind and said, “Or, yes; I will, Mr. Mavering: a very little salad, please.” She had really forgotten her hunger, as a woman will in the presence of any social interest; but she suddenly thought his going would give her a chance for two words with her daughter, and so she sent him. As he creaked heavily across the smooth floor of the nave; “Alice,” she whispered, “I don't know exactly what I've done: Who introduced this young Mr. Mavering to you?”
“Mr. Munt.”
“Mr. Munt!”
“Yes; he came for me; he said you sent him. He introduced Mr. Mavering, and he was very polite. Mr. Mavering said we ought to go up into the gallery and see how it looked; and Mr. Munt said he'd been up, and Mr. Mavering promised to bring me back to him, but he was not there when we got back. Mr. Mavering got me some ice cream first, and then he found you for me.”
“Really,” said Mrs. Pasmer to herself, “the combat thickens!” To her daughter she said, “He's very handsome.”
“He laughs too much,” said the daughter. Her mother recognised her uncandour with a glance. “But he waltzes well,” added the girl.