He was also, as M.
Pelouse had heard, the _pretendant_,--yes, the _fiance_. Well, he
was calm and inexpressive enough: no close and eager attendance; cool,
cool. "How interesting," said the observer to himself. "And Mademoiselle,
quite across the room, and quite taken up"--happily, too, it seemed--"with
another man: with the other man, perhaps?..."
At half past ten Pearson rose to leave; Cope and Lemoyne rose at the same
time. "No," said Mrs. Phillips, stopping them both; "you mustn't think of
trying to go. I can't ask Peter to take you, and you could never get across
on foot in the world. I can find a place for you."
"And about poor Roddy?" asked Hortense.
"Roddy may stay with me," declared Pearson. "I can put him up. Come on,
Aldridge," he said; "you're good for a hundred yard dash." And down they
started.
"I don't want to stay," muttered Cope to Lemoyne, under cover of the
others' departure. "Devil take it; it's the last thing in the world I want
to do!"
"It's awkward," returned Lemoyne, "but we're in for it. After all, it isn't
_her_ house, nor her family's. Besides, you've got me.
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