At the tea, nothing visible had occurred. Cornelia was behind her guests. Far away: pleasantly so, since if she held a rebuke for him it was far away also. There had been a girl with a sweet voice. He did not recall her face. He had come late, left early.
Now a note from Cornelia. She had scarcely seen him on Thanksgiving. She wanted to see him. Would he come the following Sunday to tea?
He was there, she was not alone. This was rather strange, thought David. Evidently she was not so anxious after all to see him really. He had exaggerated her feeling. Doubtless she did not care enough to have a rebuke for him. At least he could not detect it. It was a pleasant afternoon. With Cornelia was a girl—“my dear friend,” she called her—Miss Helen Daindrie. A very sweet girl, thought David. Rather distant.
“You funny person!” she said to him. “Why didn’t you offer to take Miss Daindrie home?”
“I thought I’d like to see you alone, for a minute.”
“Nonsense! You know you’d have preferred escorting her.”
“Well—is it right—at a casual tea—the first time you meet a person?”
“The first time! Why, David! You met Miss Daindrie on Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, did I?”
She was looking at him with a cloudy reserve on her eyes he could not understand. Why should she be offended, if he did not remember Miss Daindrie? Did Cornelia love her so much?