What would you do if the enemy came down on you during such
a sacred national ceremony?'
'I would offer her a cup of tea,' replied Wentworth, suiting the action
to the phrase.
'Mr. Wentworth,' said the girl archly, 'you're improving. That remark was
distinctly good. Still, you must remember that I come as a friend, not as
an enemy. Did you ever read the "Babes in the Wood"? It is a most
instructive, but pathetic, work of fiction. You remember the wicked
uncle, surely? Well, you and Mr. Kenyon remind me of the "Babes," poor
innocent little things! and London--this part of it--is the dark and
pathless forest. I am the bird hovering about you, waiting to cover you
with leaves. The leaves, to do any good, ought to be cheques fluttering
down on you, but, alas! I haven't any. If negotiable cheques only grew on
trees, life would not be so difficult.'
Miss Brewster sipped her tea pensively, and Wentworth listened
contentedly to the musical murmur of her voice. Such an entrancing effect
had it on him that he paid less heed to what she said than a man ought
when a lady is speaking. The tea-drinking had added a touch of
domesticity to the _tete-a-tete_ which rather went to the head of the
young man. He clinched and unclinched his hand out of sight under the
table, and felt the moisture on his palm. He hoped he would be able to
retain control over himself, but the difficulty of his task almost
overcame him when she now and then appealed to him with glance or
gesture, and he felt as if he must cry out, 'My girl, my girl, don't do
that, if you expect me to stay where I am.
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