“I don't like him,” declared Mrs. Dawson, quite vigorously for her. “I'm sure a man with such a lot of hair on his face can't be really nice, and I thought he was inclined to be rude yesterday.”
“Yes,” agreed Ella. “Yes, he was. I think Mr. Clive was a little vexed, though he took no notice, I suppose he couldn't very well.”
“I don't like the man at all,” Mrs. Dawson repeated. “All that hair, too. Do you like him?”
“I don't know,” Ella answered, and after she and her mother had returned from their walk she took occasion to find Dunn in the garden and ask him some trifling question or another.
“You are interested in chess?” she remarked, when he had answered her.
“All problems are interesting till one finds the answer to them,” he replied.
“There's one I know of,” she retorted. “I wish you would solve for me.”
“Tell me what it is,” he said quickly. “Will you?”
She shook her head slightly, but she was watching him very intently from her clear, candid eyes, and now, as always, her nearness to him, the infinite appeal he found in her every look and movement, the very fragrance of her hair, bore him away beyond all purpose and intention.
“Tell me what it is,” he said again. “Won't you? Miss Cayley, if you and I were to trust each other—it's not difficult to see there's something troubling you.”