“I am sorry my presence should have annoyed you,” I said. “It was quite an accident. I entered the room thinking your father was here.”
“When you saw he wasn't, you might have gone out again,” she replied, “instead of hiding yourself behind a picture.”
“I didn't hide myself,” I explained. “The easel happened to be in the way.”
“And you stopped there and watched me.”
“I couldn't help it.”
She looked round and our eyes met. They were frank, grey eyes. An expression of merriment shot into them. I laughed.
Then she laughed: it was a delightful laugh, the laugh one would have expected from her.
“You might at least have coughed,” she suggested.
“It was so amusing,” I pleaded.
“I suppose it was,” she agreed, and held out her hand. “Did I hurt you?” she asked.