It was evident that if he were to see her again he must make friends with Edward Willis. He was sorry that he had not done so before. For once in a way the recommendations of Aunt Laura had been prophetically right. His self-consciousness made it difficult for him to do so, for he felt certain that this cold, calculating young man would see through him. For two days he debated with himself on the various ways in which Mawne might be approached without coming to any satisfactory conclusion. On the third he was so lucky as to meet his victim on the Halesby train. Willis did not seem in the least anxious to renew their acquaintance; and it was at the expense of some awkwardness that Edwin managed to drag him into conversation.
They talked a little about the war, which Willis seemed to view from a remote and pessimistic angle. From that, by way of Mr. Willis’s Ladysmith rumour, they passed on to a discussion of the dance. Edwin was enthusiastic.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” said Willis. “I hate dancing.”
“I rather admired that Miss Powys,” said Edwin.
“Dorothy Powys? Yes, she’s a pretty girl, isn’t she?”
“Who is she?”
“Oh, she’s a niece of Lord Alfred Powys, one of our directors. Lives with him, I believe. I don’t really know her.”
“Isn’t she staying with you?”
“Oh, no. . . . She only stayed at Mawne for the night of the dance. Her uncle happened to be coming over for a directors’ meeting, and the governor asked him to bring her along with him as there was a dance on.”
This was all very discouraging.