I thought it was a pity he did not return to his lawn-tennis and his fiancée, if that was the errand he came on, and I was determined not to be drawn into another tête-à-tête with him, so I turned to leave the shop. But he stopped me.
“Old Bowles can’t be much longer over his bacon, I’m sure,” said he, rather pleadingly. “I—I wanted to ask you if you were any better. I thought last Sunday you were looking awfully ill.”
“Last Sunday?”—and I thought of those girls. “I was never better in my life, thank you. And I am quite well. Mr. and Mrs. Rayner have put me into the turret to keep me out of the damp. It was very, very kind of him to think about it. It is the best room in all the house.”
“Best room in the house? Then Mr. Rayner doesn’t sleep in the house at all,” said he, in a low voice, but with much decision.
I got up from the one chair and turned to my pupil, who was deep in an old story-book that she had found.
“Come, Haidee!”
“No, no; that is revenge—it is unworthy of you,” said he in a lower voice still. “Don’t let us quarrel again. Mr. Rayner is an angel. No, no, not that!”—for I was turning away again. “He has his faults; but he is as near perfection as a man can be. Then you are very happy at the Alders now?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“And you have no great troubles?”
“Yes. I have—Sarah.”