THE OLD MAID
and then drew apart. The sparkle in his eyes she understood to be as much an invitation to her bloom as a tribute to her sagacity.
She held him at arms’ length. “What should you have done, Jim, if I’d had to tell you about myself what I’ve just told Joe about Chatty?”
A slight frown showed that he thought the question negligible, and hardly in her usual taste. “Come,” his strong arm entreated her.
She continued to stand away from him, with grave eyes. “Poor Chatty! Nothing left now—”
His own eyes grew grave, in instant sympathy. At such moments he was still the sentimental boy whom she could manage.
“Ah, poor Chatty, indeed!” He groped for the readiest panacea. “Lucky, now,
[74]
