Fraser started. Politeness and inclination fought with conscience. The allies won, but inclination got none of the credit.
“Would you care to go for a walk?” he asked.
Miss Tyrell turned and regarded him with an unmistakable air of surprise.
“No, thank you,” she said, in a manner which indicated reproof.
Fraser shifted restlessly. “I thought that was what you meant,” he said, indignantly.
“You jump at conclusions, as I said before,” remarked Miss Tyrell. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“I don’t see any harm in it,” said Fraser, stoutly; “we’ve been before, and Flower knows of it.”
The girl shook her head. “No,” she said, firmly.
To her surprise, that ended the matter. The rattle of traffic and the hum of voices came in at the open window; the room seemed unwontedly quiet by contrast. Miss Tyrell sat reaping the empty reward of virtue, and bestowing occasional glances on the fine specimen of marine obtuseness in the armchair.
“I hope that I am not keeping you from a walk,” she observed, at length.