The Doctor seemed to fear that he had given Speed a wrong impression of Miss Harrington. "I'm sure Mr. Speed will be surprised when I tell him that he can have the honour of purchasing his _Times_ from you each morning, Clare," he said, lapping up the final spoonful of soup and bestowing a satisfied wipe with his napkin on his broad wet lips. Clare said: "I should think Mr. Speed would prefer to have it delivered." Mrs. Ervine said: "Perhaps Mr. Speed doesn't take the _Times_, either." Speed looked across to Clare with a humorous twist of the corners of the mouth and said: "You can book me an order for the _Telegraph_ if you like, Miss Harrington." "With pleasure, Mr. Speed. Any Sunday paper?" "The _Observer_, if you will be so kind." "Right." Again the Doctor seemed to fear that he had given Speed a wrong impression of Miss Harrington. "I'm sure Mr. Speed will be interested to know that your father is a great littérateur, Clare." Clare gave the Doctor a curious look, with one corner of her upper lip tilted at an audacious upward angle. The Doctor went on, leaning his elbows on the table as soon as Potter had removed his soup-plate: "Mr. Harrington is the author of books on ethics." All this time Helen had not spoken a word. Speed had been watching her, for she was already to him by far the most interesting member of the party. He noticed that her eyes were constantly shifting between Clare and anyone whom Clare was addressing; Clare seemed almost the centre of her world. When Clare smiled she smiled also, and when Clare was pensive there came into her eyes a look which held, besides pensiveness, a touch of sadness. She was an extremely beautiful girl and in the yellow light the coils of her hair shone like sheaves of golden corn on a summer's day. It was obvious that, conversationally at any rate, she was extremely shy. Mrs. Ervine was saying: "You're going to take the music, Mr. Speed, are you not?" Speed smiled and nodded. She went on: "Then I suppose you're fond of music." "Doesn't it follow?" Speed answered, with a laugh. She replied pertly: "Not neccessarily at all, Mr. Speed. Do you play an instrument?" "The piano a little." The Head interposed with: "Um, yes--a wonderful instrument. We must have some music after dinner, eh, Lydia?--Do you like Mendelssohn?" (He gave the word an exaggeratedly German pronunciation). "My daughter plays some of the--um--the _Lieder ohne Wörte_--um, yes--the Songs Without Words, you know." "I like _some_ of Mendelssohn," said Speed. He looked across at the girl. She was blushing furiously, with her eyes still furtively on Clare. VII