What a pity, I thought, that he had
not just a little dash about him, even the merest _soupcon_ of
fascination, in order to make the situation interesting. He was still
holding my hand as the door opened and Elizabeth shot into view with
the declaration, 'Dinner's in.'
We have a massive and imposing looking gong erected in the hall for the
sole purpose of announcing when meals are ready, but nothing will
induce Elizabeth to make use of it. If we are upstairs she hails us
from below with such expressions as 'Come on, now, it's getting cold,'
or, 'I won't bring it in till you're all 'ere, so mind you 'urry.'
If William had appeared strange, it struck me that Marion--who was also
dining with us that evening--was even stranger. For one thing, I
regret to say, she was exceedingly rude to William. She does not like
him, I know, but he was after all our guest, and she was not justified
in remarking, when he upset his wine on the tablecloth, and knocked
over an adjacent salt-cellar, 'If there's anything in the world I
loathe, it is a clumsy man.'
'I must admit I _am_ extremely clumsy--like an elephant, in fact,' came
the soft answer from William.
It did not turn away Marion's wrath. 'So I see,' she snapped.
I kicked her gently under the table. 'Marion, _dear_,' I remonstrated.
'Nothing in the world will ever improve me,' continued William.
'I'm sure of it,' replied Marion, 'it's in your system.
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