He sat on his favourite perch, the music-stool, and swung himself gently
to and fro while he mildly upheld the virtues of the instrument she had
slighted.
"I was asked to perform at a smoker the other night at the barracks," he
said. "The men seemed to enjoy it immensely."
"Soldiers like anything noisy," said Beryl Denvers scathingly.
And then--because he had no retort ready--her heart smote her.
"But it was kind of you to go," she said. "I am sure you wouldn't enjoy
it."
"Oh, but I did," he said, "on the whole. I should have liked it better
if Fletcher hadn't been in the chair, and so, I think, would they. But
it passed off very fairly well."
"Why do you object to Major Fletcher?" Beryl's tone was slightly
aggressive.
Lord Ronald hesitated a little.
"He isn't much liked," he told her vaguely.
She frowned.
"But that is no answer. Are you afraid to answer me?"
He laughed at that, laughed easily and naturally, in the tolerant
fashion that most exasperated her.
"Oh, no; I'm not afraid. But I don't like hurting people's
feelings--especially yours."
"I do not see how that is possible," she rejoined, with dignity, "where
my feelings are not concerned."
"Ah, but that's where it is," he responded. "You like Fletcher well
enough to be extremely indignant if anyone were to tell you that he is
not a nice person for you to know."
"I object to unpleasant insinuations regarding any one," she said, with
slightly heightened colour.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109