“Good morning!” he said, gravely looking at her with his deep-set blue eyes.
Her heart sank: she felt like a schoolgirl in the presence of a master who had lately punished her. “Oh, good morning,” she answered, but she did not offer him her hand.
She turned again to the flowers. “Are you waiting to see my father?” she asked, as she aimlessly withdrew a rose from the bunch and inserted it again at another angle.
“I’ve come to lunch,” he said. “I’m early, I suppose. My watch is busted.”
Deeper sank her heart. “No, you’re not early,” she replied, “the gong’s gone.”
“Good!” he exclaimed; “then you haven’t got a party. I was shy about my clothes.”
He was wearing the same clothes in which she had seen him the night before, except that he appeared to have a clean collar and shirt, his hair was carefully combed back, and he had evidently visited a barber.
“Thanks,” he answered, and remained where he was, his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, and his eyes fixed upon her.
There was an awkward pause, awkward, that is to say, to Muriel, who could not for the life of her think what to talk about.
“Will you smoke a cigarette?” she asked, handing him the box as a preliminary to an escape from the room.
He took it from her unthinkingly, and, without opening it, put it down upon a table.
“I’ve remembered where it was we met,” he remarked suddenly, as she moved towards the door.
“Really?” There was a note of assumed indifference in her voice; and, as she turned and came back to him, she made a desperate attempt to emulate the cucumber. She felt that there was a challenge in his words, in face of which she could not honourably run away.
“Yes,” he said. “It was at Eastbourne, at your school. I came down to see your head mistress, who was a friend of mine; and they let you come into the drawing-room to tea.”
A wave of recollection passed over her mind. “Of course,” she exclaimed, “that was it.”
They had let her, they had _allowed_ her, to come into the drawing-room to have the honour of making his acquaintance! She paused: the scene of their meeting developed in her mind. A girl had rushed into the schoolroom where she was reading, and had told her that she and one or two others were to go into the drawing-room to make themselves polite to this man, who was described as a great scholar and explorer. She had gone in shyly, and had shaken hands with him, and he had stared at her and, later, had turned his back on her; and, after he had gone, the headmistress had commended her manners as having been quiet, ladylike, and respectful. Respectful!