THE AWKWARD AGE
was yourself who originally distilled the poison that courses through her veins." He jumped up, at this, as if he couldn't bear it, presenting as he walked across the room, however, a large, foolish, fugitive back, on which her eyes rested as on a proof of her penetration. "If you spoil everything by trying to deceive me, how can I help you?"
He had looked, in his restlessness, at a picture or two, but he finally turned round. "With whom is it you talk us over? With Petherton and his friend Mitchy? With your adored Vanderbank? With your awful Duchess?"
"You know my little circle, and you've not always despised it." She met him on his return with a figure that had visibly flashed out for her. "Don't foul your own nest! Remember that, after all, we've more or less produced you." She had a smile that attenuated a little her image, for there were things that, on a second thought, he appeared ready to take from her. She patted the sofa as if to invite him again to be seated, and, though he still stood before her, it was with a face that seemed to show how her touch went home. "You know I've never quite thought you do us full honor, but it was because she took you for one of us that Carrie first—"
At this, to stop her, he dropped straight into the seat. "I assure you there has really been nothing." With a continuation of his fidget he pulled out his watch. "Won't she come in at all?"
"Do you mean Nanda?"
"Talk me over with her," he smiled, "if you like. If you don't believe Mrs. Donner is dust and ashes to me," he continued, "you do little justice to your daughter."
"Do you wish to break it to me that you're in love with her?"
He hesitated, but only as if to give weight to his reply. "Awfully. I can't tell you how I like her."
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