He was always surprised and even a little gêné each time he saw her, by her immense apparent height. It seemed so much greater than it was because of the somewhat monotonous lines of her figure and her rather bird-like face.
Harry watched her, listened to her as she chattered away her hurried, inexpressive unmeaning slang, and looked at him with her bright, small, beadlike eyes.
He did not appreciate her. He did not know that behind the jerky manner and inexpressive face there was a Soul.
She had not been trained to talk sentiment, and she could not express her ideas; so, though she adored Harry, she only said to her mother in confidence, when in a serious mood, that he was all right; and when in a more playful frame of mind to her girl-friends, that he was a little bit of all right.
"Alec," he said, making her sit down in the lowest chair (he could not bear her towering over him), "isn't it a bore that I can't come on the yacht?"
"Pretty useless," she answered.
He took her hand.
"You won't forget me while I'm away, will you, Alec?"
"What do you think?" she answered in a trembling voice, and then gave a loud laugh.
"I don't think—I don't know."