“Smile, smile! Let me kiss your dimples. Where are they—those dimples?”
They revealed themselves and vanished. He tore himself away. Looking back again and again, he saw her erect and smiling bravely.
She smiled till he was out of sight.
Protest met him from three sets of lips, as he came back to his family. Where had he been? Why had he skipped tea? The Squire said jovially:
“Very sound! Tea, after a Sunday luncheon, is an insult to one’s dinner. The walk has done the boy good. Our air on the high ground is the best in England. Look at the rascal! His eyes are sparkling. But we missed you. Didn’t we?”
He appealed to Margot. She assented, with less sprightliness than usual, trying to account for the light in the absentee’s eyes. Lady Pomfret remained silent, lacking the Squire’s faith in Nether-Applewhite air. She divined that something had happened. What? Exercise might have quickened friendship for their visitor into love. Lionel radiated resolution. His laugh rang out crisply. He stood facing them, with his chin at a conqueror’s angle. He wanted to tell the truth then and there. He told it in his own way.
“I have had a wonderful afternoon.”
Margot said quickly, with a derisive inflection:
“There are moments when Lionel cannot bear the society of women.”