She seemed to take this as a tribute. She raised her candid eyes to his face, and said: “Do I? Truly?”
His gaze travelled slowly over her borrowed raiment. “Horrible!” he said. “Are you under the impression that you have tied that—that travesty of a cravat in a Wyndham Fall?”
“No, but the thing is I have never tied a cravat before,” she explained.
“That,” said Sir Richard, “is obvious. Come here!”
She approached obediently, and stood still while his expert fingers wrought with the crumpled folds round her neck.
“No, it is beyond even my skill,” he said at last. “I shall have to lend you one of mine. Never mind; sit down, and let us talk this matter over. My recollection is none of the clearest, but I fancy you said you were going into Somerset to marry a friend of your childhood.”
“Yes, Piers Luttrell,” nodded Miss Creed, seating herself in a large arm-chair.
“Furthermore, you are just seventeen.”
“Turned seventeen,” she corrected.
“Don’t quibble! And you propose to undertake this journey as a passenger on an Accommodation coach?”