The girl was standing against the wall with her head thrown back. Lady
Valleys could not see her face; but she felt all of a sudden exceedingly
uncomfortable, and whispered:
"Two murders and a theft, Babs; wasn't it 'Our Mutual Friend'?"
"Mother!"
"What?"
"Her face! When you're going to throw away a flower, it looks at you!"
"My dear!" murmured Lady Valleys, thoroughly distressed, "what things
you're saying to-day!"
This lurking in a dark passage, this whispering girl--it was all queer,
unlike an experience in proper life.
And then through the reopened door she saw Miltoun, stretched out in
a chair, very pale, but still with that look about his eyes and lips,
which of all things in the world had a chastening effect on Lady
Valleys, making her feel somehow incurably mundane.
She said rather timidly:
"I'm so glad you're better, dear. What a time you must have had! It's
too bad that I knew nothing till yesterday!"
But Miltoun's answer was, as usual, thoroughly disconcerting.
"Thanks, yes! I have had a perfect time--and have now to pay for it, I
suppose."
Held back by his smile from bending to kiss him, poor Lady Valleys
fidgeted from head to foot. A sudden impulse of sheer womanliness caused
a tear to fall on his hand.
When Miltoun perceived that moisture, he said:
"It's all right, mother.
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