“It is extremely kind of you and Sir Charles to take me on trust like this,” he began.  “Believe me I am very grateful.  Under ordinary circumstances I should never have dreamed of proposing myself.  But I am going out to India for the first time—­sailing in the Penang the day after to-morrow.  And, as I should be so near here at Southampton, it was, I own, a great temptation to ask if I might come for a night.  I felt—­my father felt—­what a privilege it would be for me, a really tremendous piece of luck, to meet Sir Charles before I started.  Such a rare and memorable send off for me, you know!”

“We were very glad you should propose yourself,” Damaris answered, still with her grave air of ceremony.

“Awfully good of you, I’m sure,” the young man murmured.—­No, she didn’t stare.  He could not honestly call it staring.  It was too calm, too impersonal, too reserved for that.  She looked, with a view to arriving at conclusions regarding him.  And he didn’t enjoy the process—­not in the least.

“My father is still interested in everything connected with India,” she went on.  “He will like to talk to you.  We have people with us this afternoon whom he could not very well leave, or he would have driven into Marychurch himself to fetch you.  Dr. McCabe, who we knew at Bhutpur long ago, came over unexpectedly from Stourmouth this morning; and my Aunt Harriet Cowden telegraphed that she and Uncle Augustus would bring Aunt Felicia, who is staying with them at Paulton Lacy, here to tea.—­But, of course, you know them quite well—­Uncle Augustus, I mean, and my aunts.”

“Do I not know them!” Tom replied with meaning; while, humour getting the upper hand thanks to certain memories, he smiled at her.

And, even at this early period in his career, it must be conceded that Tom Verity’s smile was an asset to be reckoned with.  Mischievous to the verge of impudence; but confidential, too, most disarmingly friendly—­a really vastly engaging smile, which, having once beheld, most persons found themselves more than ready to behold often again.

Under its persuasive influence Damaris’ gravity relaxed.  She lowered her eyes, and the soft warm colour deepened in her cheeks.

Her steady gaze removed, the young man breathed more freely.  He congratulated himself.  Intercourse was in act of becoming normal and easy.  So far it had been quite absurdly hind-leggy—­and for him, him, to be forced into being hind-leggy by a girl of barely eighteen!  Now he prepared to trot gaily, comfortably, off on all fours, when she spoke, bringing him up to the perpendicular again with a start.

“I love Aunt Felicia very dearly,” she announced, as though in protest against some implied and subtle disloyalty.