“Yes,” said Muriel, “that will be very nice for him: he loves tea-parties, don’t you, Daniel dear?”
Daniel looked at her curiously. His Christian name sounded strange from her lips, and he wondered why she had used it now for the first time. Her expression suggested that there was a private joke between them, and the intimacy pleased him.
“Yes, Muriel dear,” he replied, gravely, and Muriel gasped; “but you needn’t blurt out my secret.” He turned to Mrs. Cavilland as though to explain. “I’m rather addicted to tea-drinking and quiet gossip,” he said.
Mrs. Cavilland thought him somewhat forward, but she excused it in one who was so well-connected. “We tear each other to pieces on Tuesdays,” she laughed.
He did not reply. He was still wondering why his name, Daniel, should have sounded so pleasant to his ears, and why the expression of silent understanding on Muriel’s face should have stirred him so subtly. It was as though their friendship had taken a leap forward.
He stepped to the side of the car, and put his hand on Muriel’s arm. “Don’t get too tired,” he said, “or you won’t enjoy your dance tonight.”
“Are you coming?” Mrs. Cavilland asked him.
“No,” he answered, “I have a previous engagement with a lady in the desert.”
“Who?” asked Muriel, quickly. She was taken off her guard.
“A very dear friend,” he replied. “Her name is Sleep.”