Colonel Danby reflected that whatever his companion might be, she was not amusing.
'Have you noticed the gentleman opposite?' he inquired, stifling another yawn.
Lucy timidly looked across.
'It is—it is the Dean of Bradford, isn't it?'
'Yes; it's a comfort, isn't it, when one can know a man by his clothes! Do you see what his deanship has had for dinner?'
Lucy ventured another look, and saw that the Dean had in front of him a plate of biscuits and a glass of water, and that the condition of his knives and forks showed him to have hitherto subsisted on this fare alone.
'Is he so very—so very religious?' she said, wondering.
'A-saint in gaiters? Well, I don't know. Probably the saint has dined at one. Do you feel any inclination to be a saint, Mrs. Grieve?'
Lucy could neither meet nor parry the banter of his look. She only blushed.
'I wouldn't attempt it, if I were you,' he said, laughing. 'Those pretty brown eyes weren't meant for it.'