Lesley did not answer, but privately reflected that if the Kenyons had accepted the invitation she would have lunched at home.
She went to church by herself on Sunday morning, for Mr. Brooke was not up, and Doctor Sophy frequented some assembly of eclectic souls, of which Lesley had never heard before. So she went demurely to that ugliest of all Protestant temples, St. Pancras' Church, and was not very much surprised when she perceived that Oliver Trent was in the seat behind her, and that he sat so that he could see her face.
"I did not know that you went to St. Pancras'," she said, innocently, as they stood on the steps together outside when the service was over.
"Nor do I," he answered her. "It is the most hideous church I ever saw. But there was an attraction this morning."
Lesley looked as if she did not understand. And indeed she did not.
"You are coming to lunch with us, are you not? Will you let me escort you?"
"Thank you, Mr. Trent. But—do you mind?—I shall have to call at my father's house on my way. Just to leave my prayer-book. It will not take me a minute."
Oliver could not object, although he was not altogether pleased. For Mr. Brooke's house was immediately opposite the Kenyons', and Miss Ethel was as likely as not to be sitting at the drawing-room window. Her sharp eyes would espy him from afar, and she might ask Lesley if he had been to church with her. Not a very great difficulty, but Oliver had a far-seeing mind, and one question might lead to others of a more serious kind.
However, there was no help for it. He paused on the steps of number fifty, while Lesley rang the bell. She had been formally presented with a latch-key, but the use of it was so new to her, and the fear of losing it so great, that she usually left it on her dressing-table.
A maid opened the door and said something to Lesley in an under tone. Oliver was looking across the street and neither heard the words nor saw the woman's face. But Lesley turned to him hastily.