the same privilege if she had chosen to ask for it or pay for it, but
it irritated her that he should treat himself like a superior being.
Everything he did either irritated her or frightened her, and she
found herself constantly thinking of him and wishing that he would get
out at the first station. Griggs was silent too, and Margaret thought
he really might have taken some trouble to amuse her.

She had Lushington's book on her knee, for she had found it less
interesting than she had expected, and was rather ashamed of not
having finished it before meeting him, since it had been given to her.
She thought he might come down as far as Rugby to meet her, and she
was quite willing that he should find her with it in her hand. A
literary man is always supposed to be flattered at finding a friend
reading his last production, as if he did not know that the friend has
probably grabbed the volume with undignified haste the instant he was
on the horizon, with the intention of being discovered deep in it. Yet
such little friendly frauds are sweet compared with the extremes of
brutal frankness to which our dearest friends sometimes think it their
duty to go with us, for our own good.

After a time Griggs spoke to her, and she was glad to hear his voice.
She had grown to like him during the voyage, even more than she had
ever thought probable. She had even gone so far as to wonder whether,
if he had been twenty-five years younger, he might not have been the
one man she had ever met whom she might care to marry, and she had
laughed at the involved terms of the hypothesis as soon as she thought
of it. Griggs had never been married, but elderly people remembered
that there had been some romantic tale about his youth, when he had
been an unknown young writer struggling for life as a newspaper
correspondent.