Whitson and the most fashionable
of the fashionable set. "So you've brought him along?" cried Mrs.
Whitson. "Well, I congratulate you, Mr. Craig. It's very evident
you have a shrewd eye for the prizes of life, and a strong, long
reach to grasp them."
Craig, red and awkward, laughed hysterically, flung out a few
meaningless phrases. Margaret murmured: "Perhaps you'd rather go?"
She wished him to go, now that she had exhibited him.
"Yes--for Heaven's sake!" he exclaimed. He was clutching for his
braggart pretense of ease in "high society" like a drowning man
scooping armsful of elusive water.
She steered her captive in her quiet, easeful manner toward the
door, sent him forth with a farewell glance and an affectionate
interrogative, "This afternoon, at half-past four?" that could not
be disobeyed.
The mutiny was quelled. The mutineer was in irons. She had told
him she felt quite sure about him; and it was true, in a sense
rather different from what the words had conveyed to him. But it
was of the kind of security that takes care to keep the eye
wakeful and the powder dry. She felt she did not have him yet
where she could trust him out of her sight and could herself
decide whether the engagement was to be kept or broken.
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