The Doctor laughed. “How one’s motives are mistaken. That was the last thing I meant to do!”
Hester looked up at the Doctor, gleams of mischief in her eyes. “You being you,” she said, “it couldn’t be otherwise.” With which ambiguous remark she went out the door.
Landor followed her down the steps. “Miss Dale,” he asked, “may I walk along with you? I fancy I am going your way.” Landor’s way was usually where he chose to make it.
Hester acquiesced simply. She had been accustomed to the society of men since she could toddle, and felt no embarrassment in the presence of a stranger. Landor noted the free, swinging motion with which she kept step with him as they went down the street.
“You are not a true Radnorite,” he said abruptly.
“No, I am not. Why?”
“Radnor girls do not walk as you do.”
“I am half inclined to believe you are a cowboy, after all, Mr. Landor.”
“Why?”
“Are we playing twenty questions? You have bad manners, a habit of dealing in personalities—we call it impertinence.”