“I’m so hot,” she said. “We’ve been playing tennis. You look cool sitting there.”
He rose awkwardly to his feet, and stood with his hand resting on the back of the chair, and regarded her steadily.
“It is cool here,” he said. “Take my seat. You have done more to earn the right to it than I have.”
“Thank you, no. It’s a shame to disturb you. I’m going inside to change.”
“That’s the second change this morning,” he said, his eyes on her face.
She laughed brightly.
“It’s something to do,” she replied.
“Yes,” he said.
The old reserve settled upon him once more. She noticed that he looked hesitatingly from her to the wicker chair beside which he stood, looked from it almost furtively towards the entrance. She believed that he purposed retreat, and forestalled him by turning away with a little friendly smile and going within herself.
He did not look after her. There were people present on the stoep: he knew very certainly, without glancing in their direction, the interest they were taking in the little scene. That they had observed the girl’s action in stopping to speak to him, that, with her departure, they continued their observation of himself, he knew instinctively. Their curiosity was a matter of indifference to him.