“The wise make the most of what they have,” he replied. “And sometimes nature is lavish and adds kindliness and a sweet disposition to physical perfection... May I come and see you to-morrow?” he asked somewhat abruptly.
“Do. Come and dine—informally. I’ll ask the Carruthers.”
He looked slightly dissatisfied.
“But I want you all to myself,” he objected. “I’m a selfish fellow; I hate sharing. I prefer rather to see my friends singly than in batches. And Carruthers always wants to play bridge. One can’t talk. He’s fussing about the tables already. Let me come and look at the mountain with you, and gossip, and drink tea. We don’t meet very often.”
Pamela, if she felt a little surprised, was not displeased at his cool readjustment of her invitation. She returned his steady gaze with a faint uplift of her brows and the hint of a smile in her eyes.
“If you really prefer that, of course you shall,” she said.
“I’ve only a week,” he said. “I want to make the most of it.”
“And when the week is up?”
“I return to my mole-like habits,” he replied.
“And you haven’t followed my advice?” she said.