He demanded, still without taking his eyes from my face:
"You're new, aren't you? How long do you imagine that you're going to stick this?"
I looked up. For a moment I scarcely knew whether I had understood. Had he really asked that blunt, uncivil question?
"Were you speaking to me?" I said.
He nodded.
"To you? Yes, of course I was."
Indignantly surprised, I met his look again—steady, measuring, disconcerting. Then I felt a perfect fool, in that stiff, new-smelling uniform for which I felt—in both senses—so unfitted. Then I blushed. After which, naturally, I felt I should hate him for ever.
He waited; for some reason he was obviously determined that I should speak again. I don't know what I should have answered; I think I just meant to reply, "I don't know," but at that moment little Mr. Rhys came up to call his attention to the time.
"If you want to get on to the farm, Captain Holiday——"
"Righto," said this odd Captain Holiday.