“I don’t understand her,” he said, as if speaking to himself.—“No,” he went on aloud, “I have not seen her for some time; she has been away for several weeks at Coblenz, of all places in the world at this time of year. She is back in London now, but I didn’t call before coming down,” he finished, rather abruptly.
“I thought you were such very great friends,” said Stasy, looking him full in the face. “Have you had a quarrel?”
“Stasy!” said Blanche, her colour rising as she spoke.
But before she had time to say more, the rustle of a skirt across the grass made her start up. Their mother had just come out to join them.
Chapter Eighteen.
Herty’s Confidences.
Derwent greeted Mr Dunstan with quiet courtesy, scarcely, however, amounting to friendliness. He was instantly conscious of the slight change in her manner, and at exerted himself to regain the ground he found he had somehow lost. This, under usual conditions, would have required little effort on the young man’s part, for he was gifted with that charm of manner which springs from a really unaffected and unselfish character. “Spoilt” he might well have been, and to some extent, in fact, he was so. But the spoiling did not go far below the surface. Yet it was second nature to him to feel himself more than welcome wherever he chose to go. Awkwardness of any kind was a perfectly novel sensation.
What was the matter this afternoon? He felt embarrassed and self-conscious, as if treading on ground where he had no right to be.