“Er—I believe I haven’t told you,” he finally began, “how kind I thought it was of you to interest yourself as you have in the miners.”
“It is not necessary that you should,” said Ethel icily.
“Very becoming modesty!” thought Hemenway. Aloud he said: “Oh, no, not necessary, perhaps, but I want to do it. It is a pleasure to me.”
“It is not one to me.”
Hemenway frowned. There was such a thing as carrying this modesty too far.
“Your singing, too—it was delightful!” he continued smoothly. “And so kind of you to do it!”
Miss Barrington turned a leaf of her book with an unnecessary rustling of the paper.
“Feigning indifference,” commented Hemenway to himself. “I’ve seen ’em do that before.”
“You looked so tired that night after the funerals. I actually worried about you—you looked sick,” he said next, in what was meant for tender tones.
Miss Barrington’s eyes narrowed ominously as she replied: