"I won't intrude upon you," he said. "I can go and trespass elsewhere, you know."
Priscilla was not as a rule reckless. A long training in her stepmother's school had made her cautious and far-seeing in all things social. She knew exactly the risk that lay in unconventionality. But, then, had she not fled from town to lead a free life? Why should she submit to the old, galling chain here in this golden world where its restraint was not known? Her whole being rose up in revolt at the bare idea, and suddenly, passionately, she decided to break free. Even the flowers had their day of riotous, splendid life. She would have hers, wherever its enjoyment might lead her, whatever it might cost!
And so she answered him with a lack of reserve at which her London friends would have marvelled.
"You don't intrude at all. If you have come to see the Abbey, I should advise you to wait till after six o'clock."
"When it will be closed to the public?" he questioned, still looking quizzical.
She looked up at him, for the first time deliberately meeting his eyes. Yes it was plain that he did not know her; but on the whole she was glad, it made things easier. She had been so foolish and hysterical upon that far-off day when he had saved her life.
"I will take you over it myself, if you care to accept my guidance," she said, "after the crowd have gone."
He glanced at his watch.
"And you are prepared to tolerate my society till six?" he said. "That is very generous of you."
She smiled, with a touch of wistfulness.