[Pg 12] “You’re right, my dear! A fairy story,” chuckled Jim, facetiously. “You think so, anyhow, eh, Anne?” Thus directly appealed to, she had to turn to him, and I heard him explaining his question, which she affected not to understand; heard also her answer, given with icy sweetness, and without even a glance in my direction. “Oh, no, I am sure Mr. Wynn is not capable of inventing such an excuse.” Thereupon she resumed her conversation with Cassavetti. They were speaking in French, and appeared to be getting on astonishingly well together. That dinner seemed interminable, though I dare say every other person in the room except my unlucky self—and perhaps Mary, who is the most sympathetic little soul in the world—enjoyed it immensely. I told her of my forthcoming interview with Southbourne, and the probability that I would have to leave London within forty-eight hours. She imparted the news to Jim in a voice that must have reached Anne’s ears distinctly; but she made no sign. Was she going to continue my punishment right through the evening? It looked like it. If I could only have speech with her for one minute I would win her forgiveness! My opportunity came at last, when, after the toast of “the King,” chairs were pushed back and people formed themselves into groups. A pretty woman at the next table—how I blessed her in my heart!—summoned Cassavetti to her side, and I boldly took the place he vacated. Anne flashed a smile at me,—a real smile this time,—and said demurely: [Pg 13] [Pg 13] “So you’re not going to sulk all the evening—Maurice?” This was carrying war into the opposite camp with a vengeance; but that was Anne’s way. I expect Jim Cayley set me down as a poor-spirited skunk, for showing no resentment; but I certainly felt none now. Anne was not a girl whom one could judge by ordinary standards. Besides, I loved her; and she knew well that one smile, one gracious word, would compensate for all past capricious unkindness. Yes, she must have known that; too well, perhaps, just then.
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