There was a flavour of wrong-doing in this adventure which troubled her. The fear of being found out loomed with ugly insistence in the foreground of her ideas. She wished he had been satisfied simply to drive with her. This unforeseen development with its intimate suggestion of confidential relations vexed her. Intuition told her that in the circumstances he should have refrained from taking this step.
Then the door opened again to admit him. He came in, confident and smiling, and joined her where she stood at the window.
Chapter Twenty.
Prudence poured out the tea while Major Stotford sat with his back to the light, attentively observant of her actions, causing her considerable confusion by the intensity of his regard, and by the fact that he had fallen upon a quite unusual silence and seemed content simply to sit and watch her.
“We must hurry,” she said, handing him a cup. “If I cause them anxiety at home through being late they will make such a fuss about my cycling in future.”
“Oh, Lord!” he murmured. “What a nuisance a family can become. I wish you were an orphan.” He stirred his tea slowly, and smiled at her. “You are living up to your name. Do you know, when I first heard it, I thought it strangely unsuited.”
“I suppose you think me imprudent?” she said, without looking at him.
“No; not that,” he hastened to assure her. “But Prudence is such a Puritanic appellation. It suggests a nun. I’m not sure on the whole that I don’t prefer Imprudence. It’s purely a matter of taste.”