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. . by Jove! . . . I was furious!" And he smiled. "I suppose I was
jealous!"
"I suppose you were!" returned Lorimer amusedly.
"Novel sensation, isn't it? A sort of hot, prickly,
'have-at-thee-villain' sort of thing; must be frightfully exhausting!
But why you should indulge this emotion at _my_ expense is what I
cannot, for the life of me, understand!"
"Well," murmured Errington, rather abashed, "you see, her hands were in
yours--"
"As they will be again, and yet again, I trust!" said Lorimer with
cheery fervor. "Surely you'll allow me to shake hands with your wife?"
"I say, George, be quiet!" exclaimed Philip warningly, as at that moment
Thelma passed the window with Pierre Duprez leaning on her arm, and her
father and Macfarlane following.
She entered the room with the stately step of a young queen,--her tall,
beautiful figure forming a strong contrast to that of the
narrow-shouldered little Frenchman, upon whom she smiled down with an
air of almost maternal protection.


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