Part 19 (1/2)
”Where to place me--whether among the sheep or the goats. You were dissecting my character, weren't you?”
He waited for an answer, but Sara maintained an embarra.s.sed silence. He had divined the subject of her thoughts too nearly.
He laughed.
”The decision has gone against me, I see. Well, I'm not surprised. I've certainly treated you with a rather rough-and-ready kind of courtesy.
You must try to pardon me. A hermit gets little practice at entertaining angels unawares.”
Sara, recovering her composure, regarded him placidly.
”You might find many opportunities for practice in Monkshaven,” she suggested.
”In Monkshaven? Are you trying to suggest that I should ingratiate myself with the leading lights of local society?”
She nodded.
”Why not?”
He laughed as though genuinely amused.
”Perhaps you've not been here long enough yet to discover that the amiable inhabitants of Monkshaven look upon me as a sort of cross between a madman and a criminal who has eluded justice.”
”Whose fault is that?”
”Oh, mine, I suppose”--quickly. ”But it doesn't matter--since I regard them as a set of harmless, conventional fools. No, thank you, I've no intention of making friends with the people of Monkshaven.”
”They're not all conventional. Some of them are rather interesting--Mrs.
Maynard, for instance, and the Herricks.”
He gave her a keen glance.
”Do you know the Herricks?”
”Yes. Why don't you go to see them sometimes? Miles--”
”Oh, Miles Herrick's all right. I know that,” he interrupted.
”It's very bad for you to cut yourself off from the rest of the world, as you do,” persisted Sara sagely.
He was silent for a while, his eyes intent on the strip of road that stretched in front of him, and when he spoke again it was to draw her attention to the effect of the cloud shadows moving across the sea, exactly as though nothing of greater interest had been under discussion.
She began to recognize as a trick of his this abrupt method of terminating a conversation that for some reason did not please him.
It was as conclusive as when the man at the other end of the 'phone suddenly ”rings off” without any preliminary warning.
By this time they had reached the steep hill that approached directly to the Selwyns' house, and a couple of minutes later, Trent brought the car to a standstill at the gate.
”You have nothing to thank me for,” he said, curtly dismissing her expression of thanks as they stood together on the path. ”It is I who should be grateful to you. My opportunities of social intercourse”--drily--”are somewhat limited.”