“Mr Seton’s horse. He’s got on his new breeches!”
Dreda gave a glad exclamation.
“Mr Seton! Already! The dear thing! How did he know I was home?”
There was a short, tense pause, while Mrs Saxon and Rowena kept their eyes glued to the ground. A sensitive hearer would have felt that pause significant, but Dreda was too self-engrossed to be sensitive; she never doubted that Guy Seton’s object in calling was to welcome herself on her return from school, and her first words informed him of the fact.
“Oh, Mr Seton, it is nice of you to come so soon! Have you got the horse yet? It’s lovely of you to remember your promise.”
“My—my—what horse? What promise?”
“The horse for me—my mount! You said you would take me out riding—”
“Oh—er—yes! Did I? Delighted, I’m sure!” stammered Guy Seton awkwardly. He looked bigger and stronger and handsomer than ever, but even Dreda could not delude herself that he looked “delighted” at that moment. There had been an expression of blankest surprise upon his face as she had stepped forward to greet him, as if he had been unprepared for her presence, and he had flushed uncomfortably at being reminded of his promise. Dreda stood looking on somewhat blankly while he greeted the other occupants of the room—Mrs Saxon with punctilious politeness, Maud with a smile and a jest, Rowena in silence with a short grip of the hand. Why did he not speak to Rowena? Were they still at cross purposes as on the occasion of their first meeting? Dreda watched with curious eyes and felt confirmed in her suspicion, for Rowena stitched steadily at her embroidery, and Guy Seton never turned as much as a glance in her direction. It was true that on one occasion when she required her scissors he had pounced upon them as they lay on the table, and handed them to her before she had had time to reach them herself; but instead of forming the beginning of a conversation, as such an action should naturally have done, they both appeared overcome with embarrassment, and ignored each other’s presence more persistently than before.
A quarter of an hour passed in a desultory and broken conversation, in which each member of the party seemed to continue his or her own train of thought, with little or no attention to the preceding remarks. As, for example:
Guy Seton: “It’s such a ripping day. I thought I could ride over and see how you all were.”