It was rather awkward having a girl around, and he contemplated the propriety of bribing Mrs. Kitson to invent some excuse for dispensing with her presence. Some country damsel, he reflected, perhaps a seamstress, or a teacher who "boarded round." He determined to treat her with cool politeness while he might be forced to endure her proximity.
Going down to supper he encountered the other boarder in the sitting-room. His hostess, rather uncertain as to the proper form of introduction, mumbled something he did not quite understand. He did not wish to appear at all concerned anyway, and bowed distantly.
Miss Wheeler's dark eyes flashed and the colour came into her face. He noted the signs of resentment and wondered what he had done; not that he cared, particularly, only one should always be polite.
The supper was delicious. Everything was well cooked and well served. The china was dainty and the linen spotless.
Under the kindly influence of food which proverbially melts the masculine heart, Hardy began to look occasionally, and with some curiosity at the girl opposite him. She was tall, and well formed, her head well poised, and her voice, when she spoke, was agreeably modulated. She must be the teacher who "boarded round."
She was apparently unconscious of his presence. She drew Mrs. Kitson into volumes of personal reminiscence which prevented any awkward silence, and when they had finished, went with the hostess into the kitchen and helped her wash the dishes.
Hardy stood aloof for a moment, and then went up-stairs. He was accustomed to having girls all smiles and attention when he graciously consented to appear. This one, however, could not have been more politely unconcerned if he had been a door-mat!
"She doesn't know," he began unconsciously, as the dull red flooded his face. "No, and she never shall!"
With that desire for achievement which pique inspires, he went to work. He had a dim notion of writing a story, such as he used to do for a college paper, but it eventually became a short sketch, half humorous and half cynical in tone.
When it was finished, he went out to send it off. He knew the street number of only one publication—a thing he had bought on the way down to appease the business instincts of the energetic and persistent train boy.