THE AWKWARD AGE
in question interrupted; on which her fellow-guest could only laugh with her as in relief from the antithesis of which her presence of mind had averted the completion, little indeed, for the most part, as, in Mrs. Grendon's talk, that element of style was involved.
"There's nothing, in such a matter," Vanderbank observed as if it were the least he could decently say, "like challenging inquiry; and here's Harold, precisely," he went on in the next breath, "as clear and crisp and undefiled as a fresh five-pound note."
"A fresh one?"—Harold had passed in a flash from his hostess. " A man who, like me, hasn't seen one for six months, could perfectly do, I assure you, with one that has lost its what-do-you-call it." He kissed Nanda with a friendly peck, then, more completely aware, had a straighter apprehension for Tishy. "My dear child, you seem to have lost something, though I'll say for you that one doesn't miss it."
Mrs. Grendon looked from him to Nanda. "Does he mean anything very nasty? I can only understand you when Nanda explains," she returned to Harold. "In fact there's scarcely anything I understand except when Nanda explains. It's too dreadful her being away so much now with strange people, whom I'm sure she can't begin to do for what she does for me; it makes me miss her all round. And the only thing I've come across that she can't explain," Tishy launched straight at her friend, "is what on earth she's doing there."
"Why, she's working Mr. Longdon, like a good, true girl," Harold said; "like a good, true daughter and even, though she doesn't love me nearly so much as I love her, I will say, like a good, true sister. I'm bound to tell you, my dear Tishy," he went on, "that I think it awfully happy, with the trend of manners, for any really nice young thing to be a bit lost to sight. London, upon my honor, is quite too awful for girls, and any big house in
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