best.

John Derringham was in a bad temper. That unaccountable sense of a
discordant note with himself still stayed with him. He unconsciously,
during his walk, had dwelt upon the Professor's information as to the
view of the old ladies of The Chase, and then Halcyone's silence and
stiffness. He felt excluded from the place which he recollected he had
held in the child's regard. His memory had jumped the brief glimpse of
her during her fledgling period, and had gone back with distinct
vividness to the summer morning in the tree, almost seven years ago.

He answered with a carelessness which was not altogether pleasing to
Cecilia Cricklander. She saw instantly that her favorite guest was
ruffled by something. Although never fine, she was quick at observing
all the moods of her pawns, and had brought the faculty of watching for
signs from castles, knights and kings to a science. John Derringham must
be humored and cajoled by a proof of her great understanding of him--he
must be left in silence for a minute, and then she would pause and look
over the balustrade, so that he might see her handsome profile and take
in the exquisite simplicity of her perfect dress. She knew these things
pleased him. She would look a little sad, too, and far away.

It had its effect.

"What are you dreaming about, fair châtelaine?" he asked after a while.
"Your charming mouth has its corners drooped."

"I was wondering--" and then she stopped.

"Yes?" asked John Derringham. "You were wondering what?"