'
Elizabeth retired in some indignation, muttering, 'Well, don't say you
wasn't told.'
We sat in strained silence--for it was the first occasion there had
been any hint of a tiff between us--and after a time Marion rose to go.
When Henry had put on his overcoat to accompany her home she was
nowhere to be found. Hearing voices proceeding from the kitchen, I
went in that direction. It was then I heard Marion remark in a casual
tone--the casualness a little overdone: 'You might let me hear if he
says any more about it.'
'Right-o, Miss.'
'And, oh, by the way, Elizabeth, what was that you said about a
rival--are you quite sure that she is fair?'
CHAPTER XVI
I should like to begin this chapter by saying it's the unexpected that
always happens. As that, however, would be too trite a remark, I will
only say that William was the last person on earth I should have
suspected of falling in love with Gladys Harringay.
She is, indeed, exceedingly pretty in a fluffy kind of way and most men
like to flirt with her, but they do not let their attentions develop
into anything serious. Perhaps you know the sort of girl she is. She
makes a dead set at every eligible man she meets and concentrates on
him to such an extent that he ends by losing interest in her
altogether--actually avoiding her, in fact. Man is like that, I've
observed. I suppose it's the primitive instinct of the hunter which
still lurks in him and makes him desire to stalk down his quarry
instead of its stalking him.
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