'This fellow is impossible,' he thought.
The little black bees flying below Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace's dark
hair, done in the Early Italian fashion, tranquilly sucked honey from
Stephen's face.
"She seemed to me," she answered, "such a very likely type."
"Ah!" murmured Stephen, "there would be, I suppose, a danger---" And he
looked angrily at Cecilia.
Without ceasing to converse with Mr. Purcey and Signor Egregio Pozzi,
she moved her left eye upwards. Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace understood
this to mean: 'Be frank, and guarded!' Stephen, however, interpreted it
otherwise. To him it signified: 'What the deuce do you look at me for?'
And he felt justly hurt. He therefore said abruptly:
"What would you do in a case like that?"
Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace, sliding her face sideways, with a really
charming little smile, asked softly:
"In a case like what?"
And her little eyes fled to Thyme, who had slipped into the room, and
was whispering to her mother.
Cecilia rose.
"You know my daughter," she said. "Will you excuse me just a minute?
I'm so very sorry." She glided towards the door, and threw a flying
look back. It was one of those social moments precious to those who are
escaping them.
Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace was smiling, Stephen frowning at his boots; Mr.
Purcey stared admiringly at Thyme, and Thyme, sitting very upright, was
calmly regarding the unfortunate Egregio Pozzi, who apparently could not
bring himself to speak.
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