Immersed in reverie, he walked up and down the long grass path that ran from the cricket field to the rose garden, and when his name was shouted suddenly, shrilly and from very close, he approximated to that condition of dismay that the vernacular describes as “jumping out of one’s skin.” He turned, to see Muriel standing two yards behind him, her hands upon her hips, shaking with laughter.
“I have been watching you for ten minutes,” she said as soon as she had recovered her breath, “and it’s the funniest sight I’ve seen; you’ve been walking up and down the path with your head in the air, and your hands clenched together behind your back, and your lips were moving. I’m certain you were talking to yourself. I couldn’t think what you were doing. I sat behind that bush there and watched you going up and down and up and down, your hands clenched and your head flung back, and your lips moving, and then at last I guessed----”
“You were composing poetry. Now, don’t laugh, I’m serious, and I want to know who you were composing it for.”
“Why, the girl you told me about yesterday!”
“Yes; oh, that! But you were now, weren’t you?”
“No, I wasn’t. You can’t see me wasting my time on poetry. Besides, I couldn’t do it.”
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head, the light hair scattering in the sunlight. “Oh, no, no, no! If you had been thinking about me, it might have occurred to you that I had no one in this large party to amuse me and that I might very likely be lonely. And if you had thought of that, and had gone on thinking that, with your head flung back----”
“Well, if you had been thinking of me all that time, and hadn’t considered it worth your while to come and see what I was doing, I should be very cross with you. But as I know you weren’t I don’t mind. But come along now; what was it all about?” And, sitting down on the garden seat, she curled herself into a corner and prepared herself for catechism. “Now, come on,” she said, “who was it?”
“Well, if you want to know, it was your Aunt Beatrice.”
“Her! What do you want to think about her for?”
“I don’t know. She’s rather interesting, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t,” and Muriel spoke sharply in a tone that Roland had never before encountered.