Again she looked slightly embarrassed and seemed to hesitate.
“You mean—you think that he—?”
“It was that evening . . . last night only, in fact—”
“Oh, yes, of course it was last night. To-day is Monday.”
“That I began to realize that we were getting into a rather different relation to each other. When it began to get dark he wanted to hold my hand and—but I needn’t go into all that. It would only seem silly to you. You see, we are both young, though, of course, he is older than I. But he is very young, quite a boy in feeling and even in manner very often. I have seen him lately in all sorts of circumstances, so I know.”
She stopped as if thinking. Lady Sellingworth sat very upright on her sofa, with her head held rather high, and her hands, in their long white gloves, quite still. And there was a moment of absolute silence in the drawing-room. At last Miss Van Tuyn spoke again.
“I feel since last night that things are different between Alick and me.”
“Are you engaged to him—to Mr. Craven?”
“Oh, no. He hasn’t asked me to be. But I want to know what you think of him. It would help me. I like him very much. But you know far more about men than I do.”
“I doubt it, Beryl. I see scarcely anyone now. You live in Paris surrounded by clever men and—”