He glanced towards me in his careless fashion. “This is quite the pleasantest thing that could have happened. I’ve often thought about the drive to Woadley and wondered whether we three should ever meet all together again.” Then, turning to Ruthita, “Your brother’s so secretive, Miss Cardover. He never breathed a word about your coming.”
“My sister’s name is not Cardover,” I corrected him.
He drew himself to his full height languidly. “I must apologize for having misnamed you, Miss—Miss——”
“My name is Favart,” put in Ruthita.
“Isn’t it strange,” he asked, “that a brother and sister should be named differently?”
Then I had another illustration of how he could draw out women’s confidence. Ruthita had just run three miles in the opposite direction to avoid him, yet here she was eagerly telling him many things that were most intimate—all about her father and the Siege of Paris, and how I climbed the wall and discovered her, and how we had run off to get married and stayed with the gipsies in the forest.
The tea-boy came and set crumpets and muffins down by the hearth. I lit the lamp. Still they went on talking, referring to me occasionally, but paying little heed to my presence.
The bell began to toll for Hall.
Halloway rose. “How long are you going to be in Oxford, Miss Favart?”
“That depends on Dante, and how long he will have me.