Glancing across at May, he seemed to see an expression of absolute pain
on her face, as Lady Mildmay developed these amiable theories.
"I don't believe my husband will ever stand against yours again," she
said.
May looked at Marchmont. "They really have taken quite a fancy to one
another," she said with a laugh that sounded rather forced. "Funny, isn't
it?"
"The speech you invite me to would be a very unfortunate one to address
to the wives of the two gentlemen," he answered, smiling. "Funny indeed!
I prefer to call it inevitable, don't you, Lady Mildmay?"
May made the slightest gesture of impatience, but a moment later smiled
again at Lady Mildmay, saying, "Yes, I suppose that's what I ought to
have said."
The visitor rose to go; approaching May, she first shook hands and then
stood for a moment with a half-expectant half-imploring air. It was plain
that she suggested a kiss. Marchmont looked on rather amused; he knew
that May Quisante was not given to effusiveness. It would, however, have
been cruel not to kiss Lady Mildmay, and May kissed her with an excellent
grace.
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