“I think you might have left him in Connie’s hands,” I said, sociably beginning upon a second edition of tea.
“I want to know if you are all right again,” said Nugent, looking at me scrutinizingly. “I thought you seemed awfully played out the day before yesterday.”
“Did I?” I said. “I wasn’t in the least—I mean I was very tired, but that was all.”
“You scarcely spoke to me all the way over here. I don’t know if you generally treat people like that when you are very tired.”
“No,” I said; “when I know people well enough, I am simply cross.”
“That means that you don’t know me very well.”
“No, I don’t think I do,” I said, with unpremeditated truthfulness. “By the way, is it true that you are all going away from Clashmore soon? You said something about it in your letter.”
“Yes; I believe they are all off next week,” he replied; “but I think I shall stay on here for a bit. I don’t want to go away just now.”
I was on the point of saying that I was very glad to hear he was going to stay, but stopped myself, and said instead that I should have thought he would find it rather dreary by himself.
“I don’t expect I shall,” he answered. “I shall ask you to let me come over here very often. You know, we agreed at Clashmore that you were to take my music in hand, and teach me to count.”