Young Grandcourt turned from the pretty, over-painted woman who, until
that moment, had apparently held him interested when his food failed to
monopolise his attention, and glanced heavily around at Geraldine.

All he saw was the back of her head and shoulders. Evidently she was not
missing him. Evidently, too, she was having a very good time with
Dysart.

"What are you laughing about?" he asked wistfully, leaning forward to
see her face.

Geraldine glanced back across her shoulder.

"Mr. Dysart is trying to be impertinent," she replied carelessly; and
returned again to the impertinent one, quite ready for more torment now
that she began to understand how agreeable it was.

But Dysart's expression had changed; there was something vaguely
caressing in voice and manner as he murmured:

"Do you know there is something almost divine in your face."

"What did you say?" asked Geraldine, looking up from her ice in its nest
of spun sugar.

"You so strenuously reject the truthful compliments I pay you, that
perhaps I'd better not repeat this one."

"Was it really more absurd flattery?"