It was really amusing to see the old maid, how she skirmished and hit out gaily, like an old jaunty free lance: and to see the old bachelor, how prim he was, and nervy and fussy and precious, like an old maid.
But need we say that Mr. Aaron felt very much out of it. He sat and listened, with a sardonic small smile on his face and a sardonic gleam in his blue eyes, that looked so very blue on such an occasion. He made the two elderly people uncomfortable with his silence: his democratic silence, Miss Wade might have said.
However, Miss Wade lived out towards Galuzzo, so she rose early, to catch her tram. And Mr. French gallantly and properly rose to accompany her, to see her safe on board. Which left Aaron and the Marchesa alone.
"What time is Manfredi coming back?" said he.
"Tomorrow," replied she.
There was a pause.
"Why do you have those people?" he asked.
"Who?"
"Those two who were here this evening."
"Miss Wade and Mr. French?—Oh, I like Miss Wade so very much. She is so refreshing."
"Those old people," said Aaron. "They licked the sugar off the pill, and go on as if everything was toffee. And we've got to swallow the pill. It's easy to be refreshing"
"No, don't say anything against her. I like her so much."
"And him?"
"Mr. French!—Well, he's perhaps a little like the princess who felt the pea through three feather-beds. But he can be quite witty, and an excellent conversationalist, too. Oh yes, I like him quite well."
"Matter of taste," said Aaron.
They had not much to say to one another. The time passed, in the pauses. He looked at his watch.
"I shall have to go," he said.
"Won't you stay?" she said, in a small, muted voice.
"Stay all night?" he said.
"Won't you?"
