Westangle, whose widespread consciousness his
happiness in accepting did not immediately reach; and in the very large
house party, which he duly joined under her roof, he was aware of losing
distinctiveness almost to the point of losing identity. This did not
quite happen on the way to Belford, for, when he went to take his seat in
the drawing-room car, a girl in the chair fronting him put out her hand
with the laugh of Miss Macroyd.
"She did remember you!" she cried out. "How delightful! I don't see how
she ever got onto you"--she made the slang her own--"in the first place,
and she must have worked hard to be sure of you since."
Verrian hung up his coat and put his suit-case behind his chair, the
porter having put it where he could not wheel himself vis-a-vis with the
girl. "She took all the time there was," he answered. "I got my
invitation only the day before yesterday, and if I had been in more
demand, or had a worse conscience--"
"Oh, do say worse conscience! It's so much more interesting," the girl
broke in.
"--I shouldn't have the pleasure of going to Seasands with you now," he
concluded, and she gave her laugh. "Do I understand that simply my
growing fame wouldn't have prevailed with her?"
Anything seemed to make Miss Macroyd laugh.
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