We'll make out,
somehow. And now, she'll be here in a few minutes. Would you like to stay
here--or shall I ring for the housemaid to show you your room?"
"Thank you--I--think I'll stay here. Can I find a book?"
She looked round shyly.
"Scores. There are some new books"--he pointed to a side-table where
the obvious contents of a Mudie box, with some magazines, were laid
out--"and if you want old ones, that door"--he waved towards one at
the far end of the room--"will take you into the library. My
great-grandfather's collection--not mine! And then one has ridiculous
scruples about burning them! However, you'll find a few nice ones. Please
make yourself at home!" And with a slight bow to her, the first sign in
him of those manners of the _grand seigneur_ she had vaguely expected, he
was moving away, when she said hurriedly, pursuing her own thought:
"You said Miss Pitstone was very good-looking?"
"Oh, very!" He laughed. "She's exactly like Romney's Lady Hamilton. You
know the type?"
"Ye-es," said Mrs. Friend. "I think I remember--before the war--at
Agnew's? My husband took me there once.
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