"Will Miss Farange do me the honour to accept my
arm?"
There was nothing in all her days that Miss Farange had accepted with
such bliss, a bright rich element that floated them together to their
feast; before they reached which, however, she uttered, in the spirit
of a glad young lady taken in to her first dinner, a sociable word that
made him stop short. "She goes to South Africa."
"To South Africa?" His face, for a moment, seemed to swing for a jump;
the next it took its spring into the extreme of hilarity. "Is that what
she said?"
"Oh yes, I didn't MISTAKE!" Maisie took to herself THAT credit. "For the
climate."
Sir Claude was now looking at a young woman with black hair, a red frock
and a tiny terrier tucked under her elbow. She swept past them on her
way to the dining-room, leaving an impression of a strong scent which
mingled, amid the clatter of the place, with the hot aroma of food. He
had become a little graver; he still stopped to talk. "I see--I see."
Other people brushed by; he was not too grave to notice them. "Did she
say anything else?"
"Oh yes, a lot more."
On this he met her eyes again with some intensity, but only repeating:
"I see--I see."
Maisie had still her own vision, which she brought out. "I thought she
was going to give me something."
"What kind of a thing?"
"Some money that she took out of her purse and then put back."
Sir Claude's amusement reappeared. "She thought better of it. Dear
thrifty soul! How much did she make by that manoeuvre?"
Maisie considered.
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