“Anything you like!” she smiled. “I know what you mean, that girls have to have a lot of people—” Then she broke off: “I don’t know; I’m free. I’ve always been like that—I can go about with any one. I’m so glad to meet you,” she added with a sweet distinctness that made those near her turn round.
“Let me at least repay that speech by taking you out of this squash,” her friend said. “Surely people aren’t happy here!”
“No, they’re awfully mornes, aren’t they? But I’m very happy indeed and I promised Mr. St. George to remain in this spot till he comes back. He’s going to take me away. They send him invitations for things of this sort—more than he wants. It was so kind of him to think of me.”
“They also send me invitations of this kind—more than _I_ want. And if thinking of _you_ will do it—!” Paul went on.
“Oh I delight in them—everything that’s life—everything that’s London!”
“They don’t have private views in Asia, I suppose,” he laughed. “But what a pity that for this year, even in this gorged city, they’re pretty well over.”
“Well, next year will do, for I hope you believe we’re going to be friends always. Here he comes!” Miss Fancourt continued before Paul had time to respond.
He made out St. George in the gaps of the crowd, and this perhaps led to his hurrying a little to say: “I hope that doesn’t mean I’m to wait till next year to see you.”
“No, no—aren’t we to meet at dinner on the twenty-fifth?” she panted with an eagerness as happy as his own.
“That’s almost next year. Is there no means of seeing you before?”
She stared with all her brightness. “Do you mean you’d _come_?”
“Like a shot, if you’ll be so good as to ask me!”
“What have I done that you should doubt it?” the young man asked with delight.
Miss Fancourt turned instantly to St. George, who had now joined them, and announced triumphantly: “He’s coming on Sunday—this next Sunday!”
“Ah my day—my day too!” said the famous novelist, laughing, to their companion.
“Yes, but not yours only. You shall meet in Manchester Square; you shall talk—you shall be wonderful!”
“We don’t meet often enough,” St. George allowed, shaking hands with his disciple. “Too many things—ah too many things! But we must make it up in the country in September. You won’t forget you’ve promised me that?”