"Darling, I'm so glad--so very glad," she was whispering,
and Sanchia, with the same light laughing in her eyes, "Dear old Melot--
how sweet you are to me." Mr. Worthington pushed back his mortarboard and
revealed the crimson chevron which it had bitten into his bald brow. "A
charming scene--two charming young ladies! Mrs. Gerald Scales and her
sister, I think. Lady Maria's adoption--charming, charming!" A right
instinct sent him tiptoe over his lawn, another made him doff his
mortarboard.
"Mrs. Scales, we begin. The hunt is up. Poesy calls, 'Follow, follow,
follow!' Your sister, I think?"
Sanchia played the rogue. "Oh, Mr. Worthington, have you forgotten
already? Lady Maria explained me half-an-hour-ago. Must Melusine introduce
me again?"
"Not for the world, Miss Percival, not for the world!" the banker
protested. "I was in a sense explaining myself. Pray, do not suppose that
I forget either you or my manners so completely. No, no. But I am a little
near-sighted, I fear; there is a little difficulty of focussing; nothing
organic, no loss of function." He cleared his throat, and to give himself
assurance, jingled half-crowns with his plunged hand. "No loss of function
whatever.
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