"Miss Darrell," he said, looking at her, "you are a radical, I believe."
"A radical?" she repeated, slowly. "I am not quite sure, Captain Langton, that I know what that means."
"You believe in aristocracy of intellect, and all that kind of nonsense," he continued. "Why should a man who paints a picture be any better than the man who understands the good points of a horse?"
"Why, indeed?" she asked, satirically. "We will not argue the question, for we should not agree."
"I had her there," thought the captain. "She could not answer me. Some of these women require a high hand to keep them in order."
"I do not see Miss Hastings," she said at last, "and it is quite useless going to the aviary without her. I do not remember the name of a single bird; and I am sure you will not care for them."
"But," he returned, hesitatingly, "Sir Oswald seemed to wish it."
"There is the first dinner-bell," she said, with an air of great relief; "there will only just be time to return. As you seem solicitous about Sir Oswald's wishes we had better go in, for he dearly loves punctuality."
"I believe," thought the captain, "that she is anxious to get away from me. I must say that I am not accustomed to this kind of thing."
The aspect of the dining-room, with its display of fine old plate, the brilliantly arranged tables, the mingled odor of rare wines and flowers, restored him to good humor.