“Yes. As if, always, he had had everything he wanted. That is a little agaçant, I think. Though of course it is not his fault.”
“It may be only a part of his intelligence, his general tact and taste, to look it,” Giles suggested. “He would always be thinking about his responsibilities towards his surroundings. If he wasn’t happy, nobody would know it.”
“But would that not be for his own sake rather than for theirs? He would feel it a disadvantage to look unhappy,” said Alix.
“But he’s so kind,” said Giles. “He seems to me, now that I come to think of it, even more kind than he is charming. He’s been most awfully kind to me already.”
“And why should he not be?” Alix inquired. She took off her hat and the morning breeze blew back her hair.
“Well, I’m a rather unprepossessing young foreigner. I shouldn’t have known how to be kind to him.”
“He is quicker on the surface than you are, Giles; but you are quite as quick beneath it, and deeper far, I feel sure,” said Alix.
“Hang it!” said Giles, laughing, “how do you manage to think these things at your age?”
“I am of an age, it appears, to have monsieur de Valenbois discuss my appearance in my presence,” said Alix.
“Oh—but just because you are so young,” Giles, already alarmed for the good fortune of his romance, protested.