"You greedy thing! I can scarcely believe you are the Cecil Buxton I used to know--he would never have condescended to borrow thirty pounds from me. Do you know, it isn't only that you are nicer, but, somehow, even your manner and your voice seem different."
"Do you think so?" They were standing under the shadow of a tree. He leaned back against the tree. "By the way, I have been remiss. I ought to have inquired after your mother."
"My mother?" She started.
"I see your names are bracketed in the visitors' book together."
"Our names bracketed in the visitors book together! You are dreaming!"
"I saw them there--Mrs. and Miss Danvers."
"Mrs. and Miss Danvers! Cecil! what do you mean?"
It was his turn to stare. Her manner had all at once become quite singular.
"What do you mean? Isn't your mother with you?"
"Cecil, are you making fun of me?"