"Why not?" he asked, removing it.
"Oh, I don't know. Henry or some one might see."
"What's Henry?"
"A sort of gardener boy—the boy whose sort of sister makes kind of blouses in the village."
"Oh, does he matter?"
Cyril was wondering if he could ask for a drink.
When they were left entirely alone, on purpose to be free, he always felt rather shy and awkward, and intensely thirsty.
Daphne began to think about what time it was, and about her train back—subjects that never occurred to her when she was alone with Mrs. Foster.
"I'm afraid I shall soon have to be going," she said.
"Oh, I say! What, the moment I've arrived?"