"Well, I wasn't among cannibals, you know," literal Dick objected, "and I think I'll have to have another brush at it. Harvey is going out in a month or so."
"And you are going with him?"
"Well, I rather think I shall," said Dick. "He is a splendid fellow, and it seems my sort of thing."
Before dinner, in the drawing-room, he joined Christina, who was sitting alone looking out at the evening. "As inseparable as ever, you and Milly, aren't you?" he said, coming and standing over her, his genial eyes upon her.
"Just as inseparable," she assented, looking up at him. She smiled with an emphasis that was faintly defiant, though neither she nor Dick recognized defiance.
"Milly is looking a little fagged, don't you think," he went on. "Has she been doing too much this winter? You are frightfully busy, aren't you? Milly always likes going at a great pace, I know."
"I should not have thought there was anything noticeable," said Christina. "She was a little fagged, perhaps; but the country has already refreshed her wonderfully."
"London always does pull one down, I hate the beastly place," said Dick. And he went on: "She is being awfully nice to me. I don't remember her ever having been so nice—since, I mean, we decided that we couldn't hit it off. One would really say that she rather liked seeing me!" and Dick smiled, as if the joke were very comical.
"You have been in such danger. Milly can but feel relief." Her voice was full of an odd repression, discouragement, but Dick was altogether too innocent of any hope to be aware of discouragement or repression.
"She was worried about me? Really? That was awfully good of her," he said.