“Oh, no, I assure you—” and then he suddenly stopped.
She was frightened—quite unreasonably. She wanted to reach the warmth and light of Mrs. Comber's drawing-room as soon as possible and escape from this strange, awkward man.
She broke the silence. “How is Mr. Traill getting on at the Lower School? I hope you all like him. The boys seem to have taken to him; but then, of course, his football is a quick road to favor.”
Mr. Perrin seemed to be swallowing his teeth. He coughed and choked. “Ah, well, yes, Traill—young, of course, young, and one can only learn by experience. Perhaps just a little inclined to be cock-sure—dangerous thing to be too certain—a fault of youth, of course.”
“Oh, I've found him,” said Isabel, “very modest and pleasant. Of course, I haven't seen very much of him, but I must say that what I 've seen of him I've liked.”
They were nearly at the top of the hill; the big black gates cut the horizon.
In the light of the lamps at the corner of the road Isabel saw Mr. Perrin's face. It looked very white under the gaslight, and he was clenching and unclenching his hands. His cap was on one side, his tie had risen at the back above his collar... his eyes were looking into hers and beseeching her like the eyes of a dumb animal.
They had come to the gates.
“Miss Desart...”
They both came to a halt in the road.