It was an old-fashioned term, but Madge did not object to it. She
rather liked Mr. Satterthwaite's old-fashioned ways.
"I suppose so--yes. But nobody's supposed to know. It's a secret. But
I don't really mind your knowing, Mr. Satterthwaite. You're always so
nice and sympathetic."
Mr. Satterthwaite thoroughly enjoyed romance at second hand. He was
sentimental and Victorian. "I mustn't ask who the lucky man is? Well,
then all I can say is that I hope he is worthy of the honor you are
conferring on him."
_Rather a duck, old Mr. Satterthwaite_, thought Madge.
"Oh! we shall get on awfully well together, I think," she said. "You
see, we like doing the same things, and that's so awfully important,
isn't it? We've really got a lot in common--and we know all about each
other and all that. It's really been coming on for a long time. That
gives one such a nice safe feeling, doesn't it?"
"Undoubtedly," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "But in my experience one can
never really know all about anyone else. That is part of the interest
and charm of life."
"Oh! I'll risk it," said Madge, laughing, and they went up to dress for
dinner.
Mr. Satterthwaite was late. He had not brought a valet, and having his
things unpacked for him by a stranger always flurried him a little. He
came down to find everyone assembled, and in the modern style Madge
merely said:
"Oh! here's Mr. Satterthwaite. I'm starving. Let's go in."
She led the way with a tall gray-haired woman--a woman of striking
personality. She had a very clear, rather incisive, voice and her face
was clear-cut and rather beautiful.
"How d'you do, Satterthwaite," said Mr. Keeley.
Mr. Satterthwaite jumped. "How do you do," he said. "I'm afraid I
didn't see you."
"Nobody does," said Mr. Keeley sadly.
They went in. The table was a low oval of mahogany. Mr. Satterthwaite
was placed between his young hostess and a short, dark girl--a very
hearty girl with a loud voice and a ringing, determined laugh that
expressed more the determination to be cheerful at all costs than any
real mirth. Her name seemed to be Doris and she was the type of young
woman Mr. Satterthwaite most disliked. She had, he considered, no
artistic justification for existence.
On Madge's other side was a man of about thirty whose likeness to the
gray-haired woman proclaimed them mother and son.