For the first time Miss Levering bent her head forward slightly as though to see how far he was conscious of the fatuity of his climax. But his flushed face showed a childlike good faith.
'Eh? Will any one tell me what they want?'
'Since you need to ask,' said the gently smiling woman in the corner, 'perhaps there's more need to show than I'd quite realized.'
'I don't think you quite followed,' he began, with an air of forbearance. 'What I mean is——'
Miss Levering jumped up. 'Lord Borrodaile!' He was standing at the little iron gate waiting for his hostess, who had stopped to speak to one of the gardeners. 'Wait a moment!' Vida called, and went swiftly down the grass path. He had turned and was advancing to meet her. 'No, come away,' she said under her breath, 'come away quickly'—(safe on the other side of the gate)—'and talk to me! Tell me about old, half-forgotten pictures or about young rose trees.'
'Is something the matter?'
'I'm ruffled.'
'Who has ruffled you?' His tone was as serene as it was sympathetic.
'Several people.'