CONRAD NORMAN
summon me in this way? And—most of all—why the look that she had shot at him? What was going on between them?
When I had been recognized and greeted by her mother and her she said that she wanted me to meet Lieutenant Williamson. That was pleasant but unilluminating. The lieutenant was equally so. I was not piqued, but I had once talked to a silent Englishman about the Boer War for two garrulous hours before I learned that he had served as an officer through the whole campaign; and I promised myself that Williamson might be as amiably illuminating as he pleased, he should not betray me into trying to enlighten him about the British navy. I turned my intelligence on her.
We talked of the concert condescendingly. "I've just discovered an actor," I said, "a born actor."
That was an inspiration. There had been but one dramatic number in the concert, and her eyes at once betrayed her. She had a clear young pallor that did not speak well for stuffed heart and turnips as a health food, and that pallor slowly reddened. "Isn't it warm?" she said. It was not particularly warm. "Could we find a cool drink?" We could.
The Furnesses were stanch in their English aversion to ice- water, and her mother showed some incredulous surprise, but before she could move to arrest her daughter we were through the door.
The girl took my arm. "I saw you talking to
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