“My father will regret very much not being here when you came. Perhaps he misunderstood the hour of your appointment,” she said.
Clavering’s white teeth shone in a smile. “Don’t trouble about that. Besides, it has given me the pleasure of seeing you.”
Elizabeth was not unmindful of the fact that Clavering was a married man, with a wife across the street; and his words, which would have been merely those of courtesy in most men, could not be so interpreted, for Clavering was not a man of pretty speeches.
He picked up the volume of Herodotus which lay on the table. “So you’ve been reading old Herodotus! That’s pretty heavy reading for a young woman, isn’t it?”
“I took it up at random just now, and became interested in it,” answered Elizabeth.
“You are a great reader, I suppose?”
“N-no. Hardly, that is. But I am very much alone, and I have read a good deal since I have returned to America.”
“Why should a woman like you be alone? Why shouldn’t you go about and see people and live like other women of your age?”
Elizabeth made no reply to this; she could scarcely admit that her seclusion was more of her father’s doing than her own. She was struck by the beauty of Clavering’s voice and by the correctness of his speech, which was better than that of many college-bred men.
“How long have you been a widow?” he asked.