He was engaged in detesting Manning and himself in almost equal measure. Yet she held her tongue. They did not have to wait long. And then, there would be the question of money. But, you see, I’m smirched. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments.
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