She did not condescend to notice the flattery.
“It’s Yvonne. I bet you she’s the most-talked-of person in Fulminster this evening. And Mrs. Winstanley the sickest. Oh, how dull men are! What is all this Festival, really, but the apotheosis of Yvonne?”
“It’s the canonisation of Yvonne, I should say,” remarked Vandeleur, drily.
Miss Vicary’s expression relaxed, and she leaned back in her chair.
“You’re not such a fool, after all, Van.”
“So I ’ve been told before,” he replied, with a chuckle. “Anyhow, it will be a splendid thing for the dear child.”
“Oh, how can it be? I have no patience with you!”
“That’s obvious,” said Vandeleur.
“Yvonne would give any man her head, if he whimpered or clamoured for it,” Geraldine, rising to her feet, “and then tell you in her pathetic way, ‘but he wanted it so, dear.’ And there isn’t a man living who could be good enough to Yvonne!”
“There I agree with you,” said Vandeleur.