She would sometimes keep people waiting while she
thought. She thought perceptibly about Hilda Howe, slanting her absent
gaze between sheltering eyelids to the floor. Presently she re-arranged
the rose in its green glass vase and said: "Then it's impossible not to
be interested."
"I thought you would find it so."
Alicia was further occupied in bestowing small fragments of cress
sandwich upon a terrier. "Fancy your being so sure," she said, "that you
could present her entertainingly!" She looked past him toward the soft
light that came in at the draped window, and he was not aware that her
regard held him fast by the way.
"Anyone could," he said cheerfully; "she presents herself. One is only
the humblest possible medium. And the most passive."
Alicia's eyes still rested upon the light from the window. It
silhouetted a rare fern from Assam, it certainly rewarded them.
"I like to hear you talk about her. Tell me some more."
"Haven't I exhausted metaphor in describing her?"
"Yes," said Miss Livingstone, with conviction; "but I'm not a bit
satisfied. A few simple facts sometimes--sometimes are better. Wasn't it
a little difficult to make her acquaintance?"
"Not in the very least.
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