He resumed the great affair. "Nevile's rather jumpy, don't you think?"
Her serenity was proof. "Is he? Why should he be?"
"Ah, my dear!" cried the poor young man. "Let's say it's the old Devereux.
_Salmo deverox_, eh? Sounds fierce."
Not a flicker. "Mrs. Devereux? What has she been doing to him?"
"Nothing," he said; "and that's just it. She won't have anything to say to
him."
Then she went a little too far. A man charged with friendly impulse,
charged also with knowledge, must be handled tenderly. You must not be
foolhardy. But here was bravado, nothing less. For she arched her brows,
and showed her eyes innocently wide. "Oh!" she said, "why? Why won't Mrs.
Devereux speak to Nevile?"
"Oh, come, you know." He looked at her keenly. He didn't wink, but he
blinked. Then he crossed the room. "Look here, Sancie. Will you let me
talk to you--really--as an old friend?"
She looked up into his face, nodded and smiled. "Of course you may say
what you like."
He sat by her, collecting himself. "Well, then, what I shall say is just
this. The whole thing is in your hands--now. You can put it square.
There's absolutely nothing in your way--now--well, now that Claire's gone,
you know.
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