“I see,” said Charlesbury reflectively.
He put up his single eyeglass and gazed round the room.
“Of course, it isn’t exactly like Squires, but I’ve never been keen on the country, myself, and I like this much better.”
“You’re not lonely?”
“Dear me, no,” said Rose, surprised. “My Uncle Alfred is very good company in his own way, provided you don’t pay too much attention to him when he gets on the religious tack, and that boy that opened the door to you in the shop, Felix Menebees, he’s as nice as can be, and a great friend of mine. The other assistant is all right—Millar—but not exciting. And I see Dr. Lucian, too, pretty often. You remember him, at Squires?”
“The doctor at Squires? Oh, yes, I remember him quite well.”
There was nothing at all derogatory in Charlesbury’s tone, but neither was there any enthusiasm.
Why, indeed, should there be, Rose inquired of herself, in resentment at a slight feeling of disappointment.
“But do forgive me,” Charlesbury smiled at her frankly, “if I ask whether you don’t sometimes long to find yourself in a—a more congenial setting? For instance, we know that at Squires Lady Aviolet is really rather lonely since Ford’s marriage, and would simply love to have you.”
“Oh, no, she wouldn’t,” said Rose.