Gordon was not aware that he had not kissed her, any more than he was aware that he had not hit her on the head with the book he was carrying. The Selsburys were a courtly race. He stooped and struck her gently with his lips.
“Sit down, my dear—you will have tea, of course? I am truly sorry that I kept you waiting. Where are you staying?”
She flashed one look at him.
“Here,” she said.
For a second he could not comprehend.
“I mean, what hotel—where are you—er—sleeping to-night?”
“Here,” said Diana.
In moments of crisis Gordon never lost his head. He once stood on the deck of a sinking cross-Channel steamer discussing the atomic theory with a Cambridge don. He had twice heard burglars in the house, and had often been called upon without notice at public meetings to propose the health of the chairman.
“You mean that you are coming to stay with me—for a little while? I would be delighted, but unfortunately this is a bachelor establishment. There are no women in the house except the domestic staff.”
He spoke kindly; his argument was logical, his attitude correct in every detail.