"Joan was so stupid about it," she went on at random; her face still wore its uncertain smile. "She said it was overtrimmed, and top-heavy, and didn't become me. As if she ever wore anything that suited her! But Joan is an old maid. She hasn't a scrap of taste. And as for you, Maurice, why I just don't believe you know one hat from another. Men are so stupid."
Again they went forward in silence.
"You are tiresome to-day," she said at length, and looked at him with a touch of defiance, as a schoolgirl looks at the master with whom she ventures to remonstrate.
"Yes, I'm a dull companion."
"Knowing it doesn't make it any better."
But she was not really cross; all other feelings were swallowed up by the uneasiness she felt at his manner of treating her.
"Where are we going?" she suddenly demanded of him, with a little quick upward note in her voice. "This is not the way to the SCHEIBENHOLZ."
"No." He had been waiting for the question. "Ephie,"—he cleared his throat anew. "I am taking you to see a friend—of mine."
"Is that what you brought me out for? Then you didn't want to speak to me, as you said? Then we're not going for a walk?"
"Afterwards, perhaps. It's like this. Some one I know has been very ill. Now that she is getting better, she needs rousing and cheering up, and that kind of thing; and I said I would bring you to call on her. She knows you by sight—and would like to know you personally," he added, with a lame effort at explanation.