"
"What was it made of?" inquired Aunt Hester, who manifested a languid
but permanent excitement at any mention of dress.
"Made of?" returned Swithin; "now how should I know?"
He sank into silence so profound that Aunt Hester began to be afraid he
had fallen into a trance. She did not try to rouse him herself, it not
being her custom.
'I wish somebody would come,' she thought; 'I don't like the look of
him!'
But suddenly Swithin returned to life. "Made of" he wheezed out slowly,
"what should it be made of?"
They had not gone four miles before Swithin received the impression that
Irene liked driving with him. Her face was so soft behind that white
veil, and her dark eyes shone so in the spring light, and whenever he
spoke she raised them to him and smiled.
On Saturday morning Soames had found her at her writing-table with a
note written to Swithin, putting him off. Why did she want to put him
off? he asked. She might put her own people off when she liked, he would
not have her putting off his people!
She had looked at him intently, had torn up the note, and said: "Very
well!"
And then she began writing another. He took a casual glance presently,
and saw that it was addressed to Bosinney.
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