He checked himself. He felt that he was being a boor. He wanted to add: “but I detest the ways of this politely infamous thing called Society.”
It was Muriel, strangely enough, who came to his rescue. “Oh, don’t take any notice of him,” she said, speaking across the table. “That’s only his fun.”
If she spoke with bitterness she concealed the fact; and Mrs. Cavilland, knowing that he had lived much of his life in America, presumed that his form of drollery must be of that kind to which English people are notoriously obtuse. She did not wish to be thought slow in the uptake, and she therefore laughed merrily, declaring that he was “a perfect scream,” which so tickled Daniel that he, too, smiled.
There was to be a garden party at the Residency that afternoon, which, owing to the anticipated presence of a number of native dignitaries, he would be obliged to attend. As soon as luncheon was finished, therefore, he whispered to Muriel, suggesting that they should leave early, and thus have a little time together before the afternoon’s function.
“I must have an hour alone with you, Muriel,” he said. “I’m feeling all on edge.”
Muriel shook her head. “Can’t be done,” she answered casually. “I’ve promised Willie Purdett I’d go for a spin with him in his new car.”
“Well, tell him you’ve changed your mind,” he said, deliberately. “I want you.”
“I’m afraid you’re too late, my dear,” replied Muriel, and turned away from him.
Later, at the garden party he watched her as she moved about the lawn; and he seemed to be unusually sensitive to the number of young men who hovered around her. His philosophy had wholly deserted him, and his mind was disturbed and miserable.
Once he joined a group in which she was the principal figure; and again he was distressed by the tone of her remarks. It was almost as though she were trying to offend his ear.