“Is he alone?” Lady Deringham asked.
“He has a niece living with him,” Wolfenden answered. “She is a very charming girl. I think that you would like her.”
The last words he added with something of an effort, and an indifference which was palpably assumed. Lady Deringham, however, did not appear to notice them at all.
“Have no more to do with him than you can help, Wolfenden,” she said, leaning a little over to him, and speaking in a half-fearful whisper. “I think his face is awful.”
Wolfenden laughed.
“I am not likely to see a great deal of him,” he declared. “In fact I can’t say that he seems very cordially disposed towards me, considering that I saved him from rather a nasty accident. By the bye, he said something about having met the Admiral at Alexandria. You have never come across him, I suppose?”
The sun was warm and the wind had dropped, or Wolfenden could almost have declared that his mother’s teeth were chattering. Her eyes were fixed again in a rigid stare which passed him by and travelled beyond. He looked over his shoulder. Mr. Sabin, apparently tired of practising, was standing directly facing them, leaning upon his putter. He was looking steadfastly at Lady Deringham, not in the least rudely, but with a faint show of curiosity and a smile which in no way improved his appearance slightly parting his lips. Meeting his gaze, Wolfenden looked away with an odd feeling of uneasiness.
“You are right,” he said. “His face is really a handsome one in a way, but he certainly is not prepossessing-looking!”
Lady Deringham had recovered herself. She leaned back amongst the cushions.