“What do you think of Mr. Kingcote?” Isabel asked Ada, as they drank tea together after the visitor had left.
“I can’t judge him on so slight an acquaintance,” the girl answered. “I like his voice.”
“Strange that I was going to say the same thing. You shouldn’t have gone out whilst we were talking. He, at all events, will not drive you away with—what do you call it?—imbecile chatter.”
“He seems to be a man of some culture. I don’t know that he will find us very attractive.”
“My poor self, certainly not. But it would be pleasant if he and you found some interest in common, wouldn’t it? We must have him with the Vissians to dine.”
“Your social instincts are really remarkable.” It was a noteworthy point that Ada had never learnt to address Mrs. Clarendon by any name save the formal one. “Do you think Mr. Kingcote is prepared for formal dining?”
“By-the-bye, most likely not,” said Isabel, laughing. “But it will be a charity to persuade him to come here sometimes. However, I don’t think he’ll live there through the winter.”
“Doesn’t it occur to you that he may have gone there because he finds a difficulty in living in ordinary ways?”
“Yes, very likely.”
She reflected, adding presently: