"They are both fine," said Miss Cottrell. "What does it matter?"
But I had already discovered that in spite of his quiet manner Alan Faulkner had a very strong will. Even in trifles I generally found myself gently constrained to yield to him. So the flowers were exchanged, and, to make sure that he would not give it away, Miss Cottrell herself secured the Professor's at his buttonhole. Then he and I took a stroll round the garden. I asked him about an article which had recently appeared in one of the reviews. He said he had the review in question, and would lend it to me if I cared to see it. He went into the house to fetch the periodical, and while I sauntered near the door, Miss Cottrell came up.
"I am glad he gave you that carnation," she said, looking fondly at it, "but I am afraid Miss Pollie will get the other. She made him give her the rose he was wearing last night."
"Really!" I said stiffly.
"I am awfully amused at all I see," she went on. "Professor Faulkner is pretty deep. What a smart dodge it is his teaching her to play golf!"
"I don't know what you mean," I said coldly.
"Don't you?" she returned with a laugh. "Well, I must say, Miss Darracott, although you can talk so cleverly, you are stupid over some things. It is plain enough to me that the Professor means to win the millionaire's daughter."
I cannot describe the aversion I felt towards Miss Cottrell when she said that. Before she could add another word Mr. Faulkner appeared with the review. When I came to look into it, I found that it contained an article from his pen. I read this first, for it interested me far more than the one of which I had spoken to him. It was the first thing of his which I had read, and it struck me as very clever.
Paulina came home that evening looking flushed and weary. I happened to be in the hall talking to Mr. Dicks, when she entered, and I could see that she was not well, but he, deceived by her colour, exclaimed:
"Well, Pollie Dicks, you look as if going to town agreed with you!"