"But you know each other, I see." "Oh yes, we are old friends.

Glad to see you looking so well, Miss Birtwell." Blanche bowed with cold politeness, drawing a little back as she did so, and tightening her hold on Whitford's arm.
Lovering fixed his eyes on the young lady with an admiring glance, gazing into her face so intently that her color heightened.

She turned partly away, an expression of annoyance on her countenance, drawing more firmly on the arm of her companion as she did so, and taking a step toward the door.

But Whitford was no longer passive to her will.
Any one reading the face of Lovering would have seen a change in its expression, the evidence of some quickly formed purpose, and he would have seen also something more than simple admiration of the beautiful girl leaning on the arm of his friend.

His manner toward Whitford became more hearty.
"My dear old friend," he said, catching up the hand he had dropped and giving it a tighter grip than before, "this is a pleasure.