In the past five years Honor had established two genuine friendships with men of widely different temperaments; and she saw herself now—not without a certain quickening of heart and pulse—in a fair way to establishing a third.
The hum of voices ceased; there were footsteps in the hall; a few hearty words of leave-taking from the Englishman, and two minutes later he stood before her, his left sleeve hanging limp and empty; the arm and shoulder strapped tightly into place beneath the flap of his coat.
"Not gone out yet?" he said, a ring of satisfaction in his tone. "Going to join Ladybird at the club later on?"
"No. As she had this engagement I stayed at home in case you might be glad to have some one to 'play with' after your long lesson was over."
"Just like you!" he declared, with a touch of brotherly frankness, which was peculiarly pleasing to this brother-loving girl. "I've been rather overdoing the Persian this week. You must give me some Beethoven presently. And if you really mean to 'play with' me you must also leave off looking so aggressively industrious."
His eyes rested, in speaking, on the rapid movement of her needle, and he became suddenly aware of the nature of her work.
"Look here, Honor," he exclaimed. "I draw the line at that! Ladybird ought not to allow it. We've no right to turn you into a domestic drudge."
"Ladybird—as you so delightfully call her—knows me far too well to try and stop me when she sees I mean to have my own way! Shall you mind if I go shares in your special name for her? It suits her even better than her own."
"Yes, it seems to express her, somehow—doesn't it?"