The evening passed delightfully. Mr. Morton had another book which he had brought to show Imogene, and Mrs. Bowen sat a long time at the piano, striking this air and that of the songs which she used to sing when she was a girl: Colville was trying to recall them. When he and Imogene were left alone for their adieux, they approached each other in an estrangement through which each tried to break.
"Why don't you scold me?" she asked. "I have neglected you the whole evening."
"How have you neglected me?"
"How? Ah! if you don't know——"
"No. I dare say I must be very stupid. I saw you talking with Mr. Morton, and you seemed interested. I thought I'd better not intrude."
She seemed uncertain of his intention, and then satisfied of its simplicity.
"Isn't it pleasant to have Mrs. Bowen in the old mood again?" he asked.
"Is she in the old mood?"
"Why, yes. Haven't you noticed how cordial she is?
"I thought she was rather colder than usual."