she added, turning for a moment to Sherringham. Then she continued, smiling, to Biddy: "Only he oughtn't to have thrown up such prospects, you know. I have an idea I wasn't nice to you that day in Paris—I was nervous and scared and perverse. I remember perfectly; I was odious. But I'm better now—you'd see if you were to know me. I'm not a bad girl—really I'm not. But you must have your own friends. Happy they—you look so charming! Immensely like Mr. Dormer, especially about the eyes; isn't she, mamma?"
"She comes of a beautiful Norman race—the finest, purest strain," the old woman simpered. "Mr. Dormer is sometimes so good as to come and see us—we are always at home on Sunday; and if some day you were so venturesome as to come with him you might perhaps find it pleasant, though very different of course from the circle in which you habitually move."
Biddy murmured a vague recognition of these wonderful civilities, and Miriam commented: "Different, yes; but we're all right, you know. Do come," she added. Then turning to Sherringham: "Remember what I told you—I don't expect you to-night."
"Oh, I understand; I shall come," Peter answered, growing red.
"It will be idiotic. Keep him, keep him away—don't let him," Miriam went on, to Biddy; with which, as Nick's portals now were gaping, she drew her mother away.
Peter at this walked off briskly with Biddy, dropping as he did so: "She's too fantastic!"
