"I wish I thought he was," said Maud, with the utmost sincerity.
There was a pause, and Maud unmuffled her face again and laid cool finger-tips on Lucia's shoulders.
"Oh, what was that?" said she. "Oh, I see. You startled me a little."
Maud was still struggling for utterance.
"Am I a beast, Lucia?" she asked.
"Yes, I think you are."
"But I don't mean to be. You—you may guess if you like."
"I have been trying to guess for the last ten minutes," remarked Lucia. "Is he good-looking?"
"I don't know if you would think so. It doesn't matter much, does it?"
"I suppose it matters more that you are. Is he clever?"
"Yes," said Maud.
"And I know him?"
"You have danced with him!"
"How enlightening! as if I knew all the people I have danced with!"
Lucia suddenly sat up again.
"Don't interrupt," she said. "His name is—is Edgar Comber. Isn't it? Heavens! Oh, Maud, how awfully nice for him! Does he know yet, do you think?"
Maud flushed.
"Oh, Lucia, how can you say such awful things?" she whispered.
"Why are they awful? A man lets a girl see that he is attracted by her fast enough. It is quite silly that a girl shouldn't let a man see that she is attracted by him. I don't think it is quite straightforward not to. It seems rather secretive. If I saw a man I really liked I should run after him as hard as I could, and not give him a chance of escaping if I could help. I think it is the sensible thing to do; it is so early Victorian to bend your head over your fancy work, or avert it with a pink blush as you walk in a grove. What is a grove? It is always coming in Jane Austin's books, which I find dull. Whatever I am I am, not early Victorian. Mind, I should only run after a man if I really meant to catch him. I think flirting is silly and not quite fair. A flirt leads a man on, and leads him on, and then suddenly puts her nose in the air as if he was a bad smell, and says, 'What do you mean?'"
Maud buried her face again in Lucia's hair.
