"
"She doesn't," said Senhouse. "She dislikes a fuss, and thinks me rather
remarkable."
"Well," said the other, "I think she's right. You always were a
conspicuous beggar. Now look at me. Think I'll do?"
Senhouse peered at him. "I think you are exactly what she wants just now,"
he said. "Go in and approve yourself, Chevenix."
Mr. Chevenix, the spick and span, had something on his mind, however,
which he did not know how to put. He continued to reflect upon Mrs.
Germain, but only by way of marking time. "She used to be very good fun in
my young days. And she made things spin in Berkshire, they tell me. I know
she did in London--while it lasted. What's she doing? There was a chap
called Duplessis, I remember."
"There still is," Senhouse said, but in such a manner as to chalk No
Thoroughfare across the field. Chevenix perceived this rather late in the
day, and ended his ruminations in a whistle. "She kept him dangling--" he
had begun. Instead of pursuing, he said abruptly, "I say, you remember
Sancie Percival, of course."
A change came over Senhouse's aspect which a close observer might have
noticed. He was very quiet, hardly moved; but he seemed to be listening
with all his senses, listening with every pore of his skin.
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