'I am surprised that you have taken such a liking to Mr. Walsh.'
Sidwell coloured, and made answer in the quiet tone which her mother had come to understand as a reproof, a hint of defective delicacy:
'I don't think I have behaved in a way that should cause you surprise.'
'It seemed to me that you were really very—friendly with him.'
'Yes, I am always friendly. But nothing more.'
'Don't you think there's a danger of his misunderstanding you, Sidwell?'
'I don't, mother. Mr. Walsh understands that we differ irreconcilably on subjects of the first importance. I have never allowed him to lose sight of that.'
Intellectual differences were of much less account to Mrs. Warricombe than to her daughter, and her judgment in a matter such as this was consequently far more practical.
'If I may advise you, dear, you oughtn't to depend much on that. I am not the only one who has noticed something—I only mention it, you know.'
Sidwell mused gravely. In a minute or two she looked up and said in her gentlest voice: