"That settles it, then," said Joan. "I shouldn't like a dull pupil."
Mr. Vyner drew a little nearer still. "Perhaps—perhaps 'dull' isn't quite the word," he said, musingly.
"It's not the word I should—" began Joan, and stopped suddenly.
"Thank you," murmured Mr. Vyner. "It's nice to be understood. What word would you use?"
Miss Hartley, apparently interested in her father's movements, made no reply.
"Painstaking?" suggested Mr. Vyner; "assiduous? attentive? devoted?"
Miss Hartley, walking toward the house, affected not to hear. 'A fragrant smell of coffee, delicately blended with odour of grilled bacon, came from the open door and turned his thoughts to more mundane things. Mr. Hartley joined them just as the figure of Rosa appeared at the door. "Breakfast is quite ready, miss," she announced.
She stood looking at them, and Mr. Vyner noticed an odd, strained appearance about her left eye which he attributed to a cast. A closer inspection made him almost certain that she was doing her best to wink.
"I laid for three, miss," she said, with great simplicity. "You didn't say whether the gentleman was going to stop or not; and there's no harm done if he don't."
Mr. Hartley started, and in a confused fashion murmured something that sounded like an invitation; Mr. Vyner, in return murmuring something about "goodness" and "not troubling them," promptly followed Joan through the French windows of the small dining-room.