In another part of the room an elderly man with sleek, grey hair was talking to a heavy matron whose respectable cloth dress looked as though it had been made for her by a builder of club-room furniture. Daniel thought he recognized the man, and took a few steps towards him, but, deciding that he was mistaken, turned on his heel and, narrowly avoiding a collision with a small table, returned to Muriel.
The curious thing was that though these situations were embarrassing, he did not appear awkward. Muriel observed this remarkable fact, and wondered at it. He was certainly out of place in a drawing-room, she thought, but he was not therefore out of countenance; and his sang-froid seemed to deserve a more friendly treatment than it was receiving. She therefore got up as he approached her, and in a very audible voice asked him if he would let her help him to arrange his official quarters on the morrow.
He thanked her, and then, lowering his voice, asked her if she could explain Lady Smith-Evered’s very marked hostility.
“Why, don’t you know?” Muriel whispered. “She told me all about it: she said you had run down the Army once when you were talking to her last year.”
“Nonsense,” said Daniel, “I’m sure I never did.”
Muriel nodded. “Yes, you did. She said you spoke of the officers of her pet regiment as men who looked as though they’d been through the ranks.”
“But I meant that as a compliment,” he answered. “I meant they looked as though they weren’t afraid of hard work. Had she any other complaints?”
“No, I think that was her only grievance.”
Before she could stop him, he turned and walked straight across the room to Lady Smith-Evered, and came to a halt immediately in front of her.
“I was just asking Lady Muriel how I had offended you,” he said, with disconcerting directness; “and she tells me it was because you thought I had disparaged some of our soldier friends.”