so devoted to Cicely, isn’t he?” Mrs. Dressel rejoined, with her bright obtuseness.
A step on the threshold announced Amherst’s approach.
“I’m afraid I must be off, mother—” he began, halting in the doorway with the instinctive masculine recoil from the afternoon caller.
“Oh, Mr. Amherst, how d’you do? I suppose you’re very busy about tomorrow? I just flew in to find out if Justine was really coming,” Mrs. Dressel explained, a little fluttered by the effort of recalling what she had been saying when he entered.
“I believe my mother expects the whole party,” Amherst replied, shaking hands with the false bonhomie of the man entrapped.
“How delightful! And it’s so nice to think that Mr. Langhope’s arrangement with Justine still works so well,” Mrs. Dressel hastened on, nervously hoping that her volubility would smother any recollection of what he had chanced to overhear.
“Mr. Langhope is lucky in having persuaded Miss Brent to take charge of Cicely,” Mrs. Amherst quietly interposed.
“Yes—and it was so lucky for Justine too! When she came back from Europe with us last autumn, I could see she simply hated the idea of taking up her nursing again.”
[ 444 ]
