"It is Mr. Longueville, whom we met at Baden," said Angela to her
mother, gravely.
Mrs. Vivian began to smile, and stepped down quickly toward the gate.
"Ah, Mr. Longueville," she murmured, "it 's so long--it 's so
pleasant--it 's so strange--"
And suddenly she stopped, still smiling. Her smile had an odd intensity;
she was trembling a little, and Bernard, who was prepared for hissing
scorn, perceived with a deep, an almost violent, surprise, a touching
agitation, an eager friendliness.
"Yes, it 's very long," he said; "it 's very pleasant. I have only just
arrived; I met Miss Vivian."
"And you are not coming in?" asked Angela's mother, very graciously.
"Your daughter has not asked me!" said Bernard.
"Ah, my dearest," murmured Mrs. Vivian, looking at the girl.
Her daughter returned her glance, and then the elder lady paused again,
and simply began to smile at Bernard, who recognized in her glance that
queer little intimation--shy and cautious, yet perfectly discernible--of
a desire to have a private understanding with what he felt that she
mentally termed his better nature, which he had more than once perceived
at Baden-Baden.
"Ah no, she has not asked me," Bernard repeated, laughing gently.
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