A sense of reluctance was followed by angry remorse. Why on earth shouldn’t she want Felix?
Rose got up, flung open the door and called down the stairs for Felix in tones that lacked none of her habitual vigour.
Then she went back and poured out a fresh cup of tea, adding carefully the three lumps of sugar that Felix liked, with her usual precautions against allowing Uncle Alfred to perceive the extravagance.
The conversation was actually a little easier when Felix, self-conscious but not embarrassed, had joined them, seating himself upon the extreme edge of a chair, and balancing his cup and saucer between his knees.
Lord Charlesbury talked about America, and Felix at least asked questions, whereas Uncle Alfred confined himself to ejaculating comments, mostly of a disparaging nature.
“Uncle A.’s taken against him, that’s clear enough,” reflected Rose. She held a high opinion of Uncle A.’s shrewdness, and the thought depressed her.
She looked at Charlesbury, wondering whether he reciprocated the pawnbroker’s lack of sympathy, and was forced to the conclusion that he did. His manner was admirable, and his courtesy quite unforced, but there was a certain bewilderment apparent beneath his kindly suavity, and Rose felt sure that he would be profoundly relieved when the evening came to an end.
“Well, we all bite off more than we can chew sometimes, I suppose,” she thought to herself with gloomy philosophy, but it was not until she was actually preceding Charlesbury down the stairs to the front door that it occurred to her to apply to him, as well as to herself, her favourite descriptive idiom.
Had Charlesbury, likewise, bitten off more than he could chew? It was a great deal more likely that he was now, perhaps for the first time, cautiously eyeing the size of the projected bite before attempting it.
“Won’t you let me come and take you out to dinner one night?” he asked as they parted.