Nor yet, and this is likewise intrinsic, would the severest scrutiny have revealed in Muriel any realisation of a pose upon her own part. Her aunt, trusting as do most guardians of youth to a natural intuition in the ward, which has no standing in fact, refrained from informing the girl in plain language what it was that Stainton wanted. Mrs. Newberry's fears were ungrounded: the conventional calm had not been disturbed, and Muriel, save for timid smiles at the butcher's boy when he called at the school and furtive glances at the acolytes in church, had never yet known love. Not guessing the truth, Muriel was merely, for the first time, being accorded a glimpse of those kingdoms of this world of which all schoolgirls have had their stolen dreams. With what she saw she was frankly delighted, and when a pretty young girl is frankly delighted, a pretty young girl is obviously not at her worst.
"You look very happy nowadays," said Mrs. Newberry at the luncheon-table, looking, however, not at the subject of her remarks but at the master of her affections, who, chancing to be lunching at home, sat opposite her.
"I am, Aunt Ethel," said Muriel. "I always have been happy, but I am happier than ever now."
Mrs. Newberry smiled meaningly at Preston, but Muriel could not see the smile, and Preston would not.
"Because I am seeing so much. The city, you know, and these suppers and things. Sitting up until to-morrow. And I do so love the theatres!"
"Yes," she said, "Mr. Stainton is very kind."
"And generous," put in Preston so unexpectedly that his wife jumped. "Thompson; the salmon."
"Do you?" Mrs. Newberry was bovine even in her playful moods. "He does really run about like a boy, doesn't he?"
"Well," said Muriel, "I wouldn't say _just_ like a boy."
"He seems quite young--he actually seems very young indeed," mused Ethel.
His positive tone startled Mrs. Newberry into indiscretion.
"He is fif----" she began, then, catching her husband's eye, she corrected herself: "He must be nearly----"
"Oh, Uncle Preston," protested Muriel, "Mr. Holt said----"
"George Holt is a fool," said Newberry, "and always was."
"Your uncle is quite right, Muriel," said Ethel. "Mr. Holt does gossip. Besides, he is not the sort of person a young girl should quote."