“It seems,” Pamela observed, “that she is to be a person of many avocations,—nurse to the children, housekeeper for me, and companion to you.”
“Why not?” he said. “She’ll find the last job the most amusing.”
“If this evening was a sample of your mutual interest, I should doubt that,” Pamela retorted. “I never knew you could be so absolutely wooden. You did not make the least attempt to be agreeable. After all, it was your idea to have her down.”
“It’s no use, Pam,” he answered coolly. “I refuse to make a social effort in my own home after eight o’clock. I expect to be amused,—or at least left in peace. I didn’t lay myself out to be entertaining when I proposed her joining us. She will fit in, in time. Don’t you worry.”
He raised his glass, and took a long drink.
“If one is obliged to admit the stranger within one’s gate, I prefer she should err on the quiet side,” he added. He recalled the swift, surprised flush, and the smile which the girl, pausing on the landing, had given him; and he wondered whether in her own room she was thinking, as he was, of that unexpected encounter, and the confidential half-whisper of his murmured good-night. It had, he felt, established a sort of understanding between them. Odd, he reflected, that he had lived in the same house with her for months, and only now discovered in her that quality of the essential feminine which made her an interesting problem to the male mind.
Chapter Fourteen.
It seemed as though Arnott, after years of indifference, had abruptly awoke to his duties as a father. He began to take a quite extraordinary interest in his children. Exercise in the car ceased to be an astounding treat and became an almost daily custom. He even penetrated into the nursery, usually when the children were in bed. He bought sweets for them, and chose this hour for presenting his gifts.