He allowed an instant to pass while he looked down at her gravely.  “And he’s not the only one, you know,” he said, with all the significance he could put into his tone.

His hint, however, was thrown away, since she was intent on her own line of thought.  With a slight nod of the head, dignified rather than discourteous, she departed, leaving him, to the great interest of the passers-by, leaning on his stick and staring after her.

X

As Olivia continued on her way toward Rodney Temple’s she was able to make it clear to herself that a chief reason for her dislike of Davenant sprang from his immovability.  There was something about him like a giant rock.  She got the impression that one might dash against him forever and hurt no one but oneself.  It was a trait new to her among American men, whom she generally found too yielding where women were concerned.  This man had an aloofness, too, that was curiously disconcerting.  He made no approaches; he took no liberties.  If he showed anything that resembled a personal sentiment toward her, it was dislike.  Making that reflection and using that word, she was almost startled.  A woman had sometimes disliked her; she knew that; but a man—­never!  And yet it was difficult to interpret Davenant’s bearing toward her in any other way.  It was a bearing in which there were no concessions to her whatever, while there was in it—­it was only too plain!—­a distinct intention to ignore her.  For the time being this personal element in the situation loomed larger than any other.  It challenged her; it even annoyed her.  At the same time it gave Davenant an importance in her eyes which she was far from willing to concede.

Rodney Temple’s house, which was really within the borders of Cambridge, built about 1840 by some Harvard professor in easy circumstances, had originally resembled a square brick box.  In the course of seventy years it had passed through the hands of several owners, each of whom had built on an additional box according to his needs.  To the north a rectangular wing of one story had been thrown out as a drawing-room; to the south a similar projection formed the library and study.  A smaller square crowned the edifice as a cupola, while cubes of varying dimensions were half visible at the back.  Against the warm, red brick a Wren portico in white-painted wood, together with the white facings of the windows, produced an effect of vivid spotlessness, tempered by the variegated foliage of climbing vines.  The limitations of the open lawn were marked by nothing but a line of shrubs.

Having arrived at the door, it was a relief to Olivia, rather than the contrary, to learn that the ladies were not at home, but that Mr. Temple himself would be glad to see her if she would come in.  He had, in fact, espied her approach from his study window and had come out into the hall to insist on her staying.  Within a minute or two she found herself sitting in one of his big, shabby arm-chairs saying things preliminary to confidence.