“I have always wondered about this house. I knew Lord did it, of course, and I always heard it was well done. That is the dining-room, I suppose?”
Aileen, who had always been inordinately vain of the house in spite of the fact that it had proved of small use socially, was delighted to show him the remainder of the rooms. Lynde, who was used, of course, to houses of all degrees of material splendor—that of his own family being one of the best—pretended an interest he did not feel. He commented as he went on the taste of the decorations and wood-carving, the charm of the arrangement that permitted neat brief vistas, and the like.
“Just wait a moment,” said Aileen, as they neared the door of her own boudoir. “I’ve forgotten whether mine is in order. I want you to see that.”
She opened it and stepped in.
“Yes, you may come,” she called.
He followed. “Oh yes, indeed. Very charming. Very graceful—those little lacy dancing figures—aren’t they? A delightful color scheme. It harmonizes with you exactly. It is quite like you.”
He paused, looking at the spacious rug, which was of warm blues and creams, and at the gilt ormolu bed. “Well done,” he said, and then, suddenly changing his mood and dropping his talk of decoration (Aileen was to his right, and he was between her and the door), he added: “Tell me now why won’t you come to the barn-dance to-night? It would be charming. You will enjoy it.”
Aileen saw the sudden change in his mood. She recognized that by showing him the rooms she had led herself into an easily made disturbing position. His dark engaging eyes told their own story.
“Oh, I don’t feel in the mood to. I haven’t for a number of things for some time. I—”
She began to move unconcernedly about him toward the door, but he detained her with his hand. “Don’t go just yet,” he said. “Let me talk to you. You always evade me in such a nervous way. Don’t you like me at all?”