“Alice,” said he after a pause; but he stopped short.
Alice looked up at him with grave respect.
“Tush!” said Maltravers; “perhaps the smoke is unpleasant to you. It is a bad habit of mine.”
“No, sir,” answered Alice; and she seemed disappointed. Maltravers paused, and picked up a snowdrop.
“It is pretty,” he said; “do you love flowers?”
“Oh, dearly,” answered Alice, with some enthusiasm; “I never saw many till I came here.”
“Now then I can go on,” thought Maltravers; why, I cannot say, for I do not see the sequitur; but on he went in medias res. “Alice, you sing charmingly.”
“Ah! sir, you—you—” she stopped abruptly, and trembled visibly.
“Yes, I overheard you, Alice.”
“And you are angry?”