“Wasn’t it delightful?” she exclaimed. “He is quite an old friend of Mr. Pleydell. I was so glad to see him.”
“I suppose,” he remarked, “you are a little lonely sometimes?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But I sha’n’t be when I get to know the girls in the class a little better.”
“I have some friends,” he said thoughtfully, “women, of course, who would come and see you with pleasure. And yet,” he added, “I am not sure that you would not be better off without knowing them.”
“They are fashionable ladies, perhaps?” she said simply.
He nodded.
“They belong to the Juggernaut here which is called society. They would probably try to draw you a little way into its meshes. I think, yes, I am sure,” he added, looking at her, “that you are better off outside.”
“And I am quite sure of it,” she answered laughing. “I haven’t the clothes or the time or the inclination for that sort of thing. Besides, I am going to be much too happy ever to be lonely.”
“I myself,” he said, “am not an impressionable person. But they tell me that most people, especially of your age, find London a terribly lonely place.”
“I can understand that,” she answered, “unless they really had something definite to do. I have felt a little of that myself. I think London frightens me a little. It is so different from the country, and there is a great deal that is difficult to understand.”