Mavering put his hand on his friend's broad shoulder, and gave him a
playful push.

Boardman turned up his little black eyes at him, with a funny gleam in
them.

"Poor Mr. Boardman!" said Mrs. Pasmer.

"It didn't hurt him a bit," said Mavering, pushing him. "He liked it."

"Of course he did," said Mrs. Pasmer, implying, in flattery of Mavering,
that Boardman might be glad of the distinction; and now Boardman looked
as if he were not. She began to get away in adding, "But I wonder you
don't kill each other."

"Oh, we're not so easily killed," said Mavering.

"And what a fairy scene it was at the spread!" said Mrs. Pasmer, turning
to Boardman. She had already talked its splendours over with Mavering the
same evening. "I thought we should never get out of the Hall; but when we
did get out of the window upon that tapestried platform, and down on the
tennis-ground, with Turkey rugs to hide the bare spots in it--" She
stopped as people do when it is better to leave the effect to the
listener's imagination.

"Yes, I think it was rather nice," said Boardman.

"Nice?" repeated Mrs. Pasmer; and she looked at Mavering. "Is that the
famous Harvard Indifferentism?"