"Rather!"

"I am sure that you and Barbara would get on," continue I, loquaciously,
leaning my head on my hand, and talking in that low, comfortable voice
that our proximity warrants; "I cannot understand how it was that you
did not make great friends that first night! I suppose that you are not
poor and ugly and depressed enough for her to make much of you! Shall I
make a sign to her to come over and talk to us?"

Sir Roger does not accept my proposal with the alacrity I had expected.

"Do not you think that she looks very comfortable where she is?" he
asks, rather doubtfully.

I am a little disappointed.

"I am sure she would like you," I say, with a dogmatic shake of the
head. "I told her that you were--well, that _I_ got on with you, and we
always like the same people."

"That must be awkward sometimes?"

"What do you mean? Oh! not in _that_ way--" (with an unblushing
heart-whole laugh). "Lucky for me that we do not."

"Lucky for _you?_" (interrogatively).

"Why _will_ you make me say things that sound mock-modest?" cry I,
reddening a little this time. "You know perfectly well what I mean--it