Tubal regarded him suspiciously, but Tubal’s eyes were keen and his perceptions keener. He saw embarrassment in Evan’s smile, and sincerity, and something else which might have been called pitiful.
“I’m doggoned!” he exclaimed.
Evan sighed. This business of making human contacts was more difficult than he imagined. “I—you know—I fancy I like you,” he said.
Tubal waved his hands, a fluttering, distracted sort of waving. “’Tain’t licker,” he said to himself. “Must be suthin’ he et....”
“Er—we will resume the subject later,” said Evan, “when both of us have more leisure.... Ah, good morning, Simmy. I trust you slept well.... The weather is—ah—satisfactory. Do you not find it so?”
Tubal leaned against the press and swallowed three several convulsive times. Then he turned upon Simmy fiercely. “Go wash your face,” he shouted.
Evan backed away a step and then beat a retreat. He sat down at his table and leaned his head on his hands. Obviously the thing had not been properly done. The results were quite other than he desired, but why? He had unbent. He had been friendly, made friendly overtures. What was wrong?
At this unsatisfactory juncture Carmel entered, looking very young and fresh and dainty. Evan forgot his disappointment for the moment in his delight at seeing her. He stared at her as a hungry child stares in a bakery window. The sensation was highly pleasurable. He detected this and took immediate measures to suppress it.
“Miss Lee,” he said, with some hesitation, “I gave careful consideration to your yesterday’s arraignment of myself.”
“I’m sorry. I had no intention to wound you, Mr. Pell. I—I hope you will forgive me.”