THE AWKWARD AGE
turned a little pale was really the one fresh mark. "'Funked' it? Why in the world—?" His own color deepened at her accent, which was a sufficient light on his having been stupid. "Do you mean you declined the arrangement?"
He only, with a smile somewhat strained, continued for a moment to look at her; clearly, however, at last feeling, and not much caring, that he got in still deeper. "You're magnificent. You're magnificent."
Her lovely gaze widened out. "Comment donc? Where—why? You have declined her?" she went on. After which, as he replied only with a slow head-skake that seemed to say it was not, for the moment, all so simple as that, she had one of the inspirations to which she was constitutionally subject. "Do you imagine I want you myself?"
"Dear Mrs. Brook, you're so admirable," he answered, laughing, "that if by any chance you did, upon my honor I don't see how I should be able not to say 'All right.'" Then he spoke more gravely. "I was shy of really bringing out to you what has happened to me, for a reason that I have of course to look in the face. Whatever you want yourself, for Nanda you want Mitchy."
"I see, I see." She did full justice to his explanation. "And what did you say about a 'basis'? The blessed man offers to settle—?"
"You're a wonderful woman," her visitor returned, "and your imagination takes its fences in a way that, when I'm out with you, quite puts mine to shame. When he mentioned it to me I was quite surprised."
"And I," Mrs. Brook asked, "am not surprised a bit? Isn't it only," she modestly suggested, "because I've taken him in more than you? Didn't you know he would?" she quavered.
Vanderbank thought, or at least pretended to. "Make me the condition? How could I be sure of it?"
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