So I thought, at all events.
"My dear, drink some water immediately, this curry is very hot--deuced
hot, in fact," said Mr. Ghyrkins, in perfectly good faith.
John Westonhaugh, who was busy breaking up biscuits and green peppers
and "Bombay ducks" into his curry, looked up slowly at his sister and
smiled.
"Why, you are quite a griffin, Katharine," said he, "how they will laugh
at you in Bombay!" I was amused; of course the remarks of her uncle and
brother did not make the blush subside--on the contrary. Kildare was
drinking more claret, to conceal his annoyance. Isaacs had a curious
expression. There was a short silence, and for one instant he turned his
eyes to Miss Westonhaugh. It was only a look, but it betrayed to me--who
knew what he felt--infinite surprise, joy, and sympathy. His quick
understanding had comprehended that he had scored his first victory over
his rival.
As her eyes met those of Isaacs, the colour left her cheeks as suddenly
as it had come, leaving her face dead white. She drank a little water,
and presently seemed at ease again. I was beginning to think she cared
for him seriously.
"And pray, John," she asked, "what may a griffin be? It is not a very
pretty name to call a young lady, is it?"
"Why, a griffin," put in Mr. Ghyrkins, "is the 'Mr.
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