She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. She possessed it, astonishing fact! She had summoned this energy so continuously during the past four weeks that now it was abiding; she knew that it would always be with her, on guard. There was a pause, while the steel grey eyes sliced at her. Treasure caves to explore! All through these trying days she had recurrently wondered what this strange young man would have to say that Dickens and Hugo had not already said. Her mind jumped with questions as fear raced through her and hardened into a bid for retaliation. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so.
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