Had it been possible to banish her young sister to her bedroom, Agatha would have done so; but Prudence lately had shown a growing tendency to break away from control, and she was wise enough not to put a further strain on the weakening strands of her already frayed authority. Therefore Prudence was in the drawing-room when the stranger called—indeed, she was the only person present so far as he was concerned. He paid her far more attention than Miss Agatha deemed necessary or in good taste. The manners of youth, as each generation which has left youth behind unfailingly recognises, are sadly deteriorating.
As for Prudence, she admired the front view as greatly as she had admired the back. Mr Philip Steele was eminently well-favoured. Prudence considered him handsome. She had met so few men that anyone who escaped middle-age and stoutness appeared to her in the guise of masculine perfection, provided only that his face was strong. Steele’s face matched with his name, sharp, clear-cut, firm of jaw. And he was clean-shaven. William wore a beard. Hair on a man’s face was patriarchal.
Tea was brought in by the butler and deposited on a table in front of Miss Agatha; and the young man, seizing the opportunity when his hostess’ attention was thus engaged, demanded of Prudence in a confidential undertone:
“I say, wasn’t it you I saw leaning from a window two nights ago?”
“Yes.” Prudence looked at him with a frank laugh in her blue eyes. “I saw you pass. It must have been gorgeous, walking down there in the moonlight.”
“It was pleasant,” he said without enthusiasm, and added with a return smile: “I was thinking how jolly it must be up there where you were, looking out on the quiet fragrance of the night.”
And then they both laughed happily, though there was manifestly nothing to laugh at. Miss Agatha, disapproving of this mutual enjoyment, called Prudence away to make the tea; whereupon the young man followed her to the tea-table and hovered over it, wishful to be of use.
“One teaspoonful for each person and one for the teapot,” Miss Agatha directed precisely; and the visitor wondered with resentment why on earth the old girl didn’t make the brew herself.
“I hope you’ll like our tea,” she said, when, having handed round the various cups, Steele returned to the table for his own. “We give eighteenpence a pound for it. We drink it for an example.”
She did not explain why, nor for whom, the example was deemed necessary. Steele sipped his tea, and tried not to looked amazed, and assured her that it was jolly good. Then he wandered back to Prudence’s side, openly curious as to her relationship in regard to the others.