“Yes, I know all about that head.”
“Well, if you had been thinking of me all that time, and hadn’t considered it worth your while to come and see what I was doing, I should be very cross with you. But as I know you weren’t I don’t mind. But come along now; what was it all about?” And, sitting down on the garden seat, she curled herself into a corner and prepared herself for catechism. “Now, come on,” she said, “who was it?”
“Well, if you want to know, it was your Aunt Beatrice.”
Muriel pouted.
“Her! What do you want to think about her for?”
“I don’t know. She’s rather interesting, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t,” and Muriel spoke sharply in a tone that Roland had never before encountered.
“But——” he began.
“Oh, never mind,” she said, “if you’ve been thinking about Aunt Beatrice for the last ten minutes you won’t want to talk about her now. Come and have a game of tennis.”
And she jumped up from her seat and walked up towards the house. Roland felt, as he prepared to follow her, that it was an abrupt way to end a conversation that she had forced on him.