That was not the look she desired. Surprise at first, surprise blent with pleasure; but then a gravity which was all but disapproval.
Yet he gave his hand.
'Good-morning, Miss Trent!' The voice was scrupulously subdued, as inflexionless as he could make it. 'I am still at my secret work, you see. When I went away for lunch yesterday something prevented me from returning, so I came down again this morning.'
'You have got them nearly all put up.'
She could not face him, but kept her eyes on the almost empty cases.
'Yes. But I expect some more this afternoon.'
He walked away from her, with books in his hands. Thyrza felt ashamed. What must he think of her? It was almost rude to come in this way—without shadow of excuse. Doubtless he was punishing her by this cold manner. Yet he could not unsay what he had said yesterday; and his recognition of her just outside the Hall last night had been so friendly. She felt that her mode of addressing him had been too unceremonious; the 'Sir' of their former intercourse seemed demanded again. Yet to use it would be plain disregard of his request.
Must she speak another word and go? That would be very hard. Shame and embarrassment notwithstanding, it was so sweet to be here; nay, the shame itself was luxury.
He said:
'I am so sorry I haven't a chair to offer you. If I put the top on this box? That is a very rude sort of seat, but—'