He strode forward as he spoke and began to exchange greetings with Mrs. Anstruther, who rose to meet him. He had to hear the morning's story re-discussed, exclaimed over, criticized. He bore it, without impatience, but with a certain aloofness which gave the subject no chance to endure. He managed skilfully, at last, to divert the conversation into other channels.
Anstruther, who had sat between his wife and Miss Van Arlen, had risen to welcome Commandant Rattier. The mishap to the latter's horse engrossed their attention; they wandered off together to examine the wounded limb. After a moment's hesitation Aylmer sank into the vacant chair.
He looked round at the girl. Her eyes met his, but her hand, as if acting by some automatic command of the brain, touched her skirt and pulled it toward herself, and away from him. His lips grew a thought more rigid behind the veiling moustache. But his voice was entirely divested of any semblance of pique.
"And how is my small cousin?" he asked pleasantly. "Has Selim persuaded him to take that long-deferred siesta?"
Old Van Arlen stirred restlessly on his seat. He looked at Aylmer, his lips moved as if to speech, and then closed again. Miss Van Arlen sat up very straight.
"Do you mean my nephew?" she asked frigidly.
"Your nephew and my cousin," said Aylmer, cheerfully. "I hardly expected to find a relation here when I started this morning."
Her eyes grew stormy with suspicion, almost with hate.
"Are you sure?" she demanded suddenly.
"Quite sure," said Aylmer, halting for a scarcely perceptible moment before her meaning reached him. "I have found only friends—so far."