'Oh no,' said Brenda lightly in reply. 'I just happened to wonder what the time might be. I hope it was not rude.'
He laughed forgivingly, still looking about him.
'Ah!' he exclaimed in an altered tone. 'Is that not Trist? Dear old Theo Trist!'
'Yes.'
Brenda had apparently followed the direction indicated by her companion's gaze, and was now looking towards the new-comer with an inimitable little smile which completely quashed all attempts to divine whether she were surprised, or pleased, or politely interested.
Trist was making his way slowly across the room, exchanging greetings here and there. Brenda, in her keen observant way, conceived a sudden idea that his manner was not quite natural. Although of a kindly spirit, Trist was not a genial man with a smile full of affection for the merest acquaintance; and the girl, in some vague way, felt that he was shaking hands with men and women who were profoundly indifferent to him. Indeed, he seemed to go out of his way to do so.
'When did you get home?' she heard someone ask him; and the reply was delivered in clear tones, audible at a greater distance than Trist's voice usually was, as if with intention.
'This afternoon,' he said. 'Only this afternoon. I landed at Plymouth this morning.'
The next moment he was standing before her with his brown face bowed, his hand extended.
'You see, Brenda,' he said, 'I have turned up again. A veritable dove without the leaf in my mouth. I am an emblem of peace.'