Part 88 (2/2)

Very much surprised, she put the teapot down deliberately and looked at him. He held his hat to his breast, and bowed with exaggerated deference, in an affected, foreign way.

”I insisted on seeing you,” he began, as if that were something to boast of. ”Perhaps I ought to apologise.”

Beth, not knowing what to say, asked him to sit down. Then there was a little pause. He looked at the tea-table.

”I see that you do take tea,” he observed. ”Why did you refuse it when I offered you some yesterday?”

”I am afraid I am not prepared to give you a reason,” Beth answered stiffly.

”Would it be out of place if I were to ask for some tea?” he said.

Beth silently poured him out a cup, and he got up, took what he wanted in the way of sugar and cream and cake, and sat down again, making himself very much at home.

”Do take some yourself,” he pleaded. ”You are making me feel such an outsider.”

”I beg your pardon,” said Beth, helping herself.

She did not know whether to be annoyed or amused by his a.s.surance. Had she not known who he was she would certainly have been annoyed; but the recollection of their days together, when the world was young and life was all pure poetry, came upon her suddenly as she found something of the boy in the face and voice of the man before her, making it impossible for her to treat him as a stranger, and melting her into a smile.

”Confess that you were surprised to see me,” he said.

”I was,” she answered.

”And not glad, perhaps,” he pursued.

”Surprised means neither glad nor sorry,” she observed.

”D'you know, the moment I saw you----” he began sentimentally; ”but never mind that now,” he broke off. ”Let me give you my reason for coming, which is also my excuse. I hope you will accept it.”

Beth waited quietly.

”I told you I could always find out anything I wanted to know about anybody,” he pursued, ”and last night I happened to sit next a lady at a dinner-party who turned out to be a great friend of yours. I always talk to strange ladies about what I've been doing; that kind of thing interests them, you know; and I described the party here yesterday afternoon, and said I only met one lady in the whole a.s.sembly worth looking at and worth speaking to, and that was Mrs. Maclure, who was staying in the house. 'Oh, I know her quite well,' the lady said.

'She's a neighbour of mine at Slane. Her husband is a doctor, but I hear _she_ is connected with some of the best county people in the north. She's very clever, I believe, and by way of being literary and all that sort of thing, don't you know. But I don't think she has any one to advise her.'”

”Oh,” said Beth, enlightened, ”I know who my great friend is then--Mrs. Carne!”

”Yes,” said Mr. Pounce, ”and when I heard you were literary, I felt a further affinity, for, as I daresay you have heard, I am a literary man myself.”

”Yes; I heard you were 'by way of being literary,' too,” Beth rejoined.

”Who told you so?” he demanded quickly, his whole thought instantly concentrated on the interesting subject when it concerned himself.

”I do not feel at liberty to tell you,” she replied.

”Was it Mrs. Kilroy?”

Beth made no sign.

”Was it Mr. Kilroy?” he persisted.

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