She
beckoned to him.
"Georgie, the most awful thing has happened," she said, as they came
within speaking distance. "Oh, I called you Georgie by mistake then.
When one once does that, one must go on doing it on purpose. Guess!"
she said in the best Riseholme manner.
"You can come to Lucia's party after all," said he.
"No, I can't. Well, you'll never guess because you move in such high
circles, so I'll tell you. Mrs Weston's Elizabeth is going to be
married to Colonel Boucher's Atkinson. I don't know his Christian name,
nor her surname, but they're the ones!"
"You don't say so!" said Georgie, stung for a moment out of his own
troubles. "But will they both leave? What will either of the others do?
Mrs Weston can't have a manservant, and how on earth is she to get on
without Elizabeth? Besides----"
A faint flush mounted to his cheek.
"I know. You mean babies," said Olga ruthlessly. "Didn't you?"
"Yes," said Georgie.
"Then why not say so? You and I were babies once, though no one is old
enough to remember that, and we shouldn't have liked our parents and
friends to have blushed when they mentioned us. Georgie, you are a
prude."
"No, I'm not," said Georgie, remembering he was probably in love with a
married woman.
"It doesn't matter whether you are or not. Now there's only one thing
that can happen to Mrs Weston and the Colonel.
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