The tall figure moved slowly, lazily, down the room towards her, holding
the _Times_ in one hand.

"It's not Oriental," he said, "it's Lowestoft."

"Ah!" said Rose absently. She felt the eyes whose sadness had been
apparent even to Mrs. Delaport Green looking her over with a quick
scrutiny.

"Why, in your general scheme of benevolence, have you not thought it
fit, during the last few days, to give me the chance of talking to you
alone?" The tone was full of exasperation, but ironical too, as if he
were faintly amused at himself for being exasperated.

"I don't know. Have I avoided being alone with you?" Rose had turned to
the chimney-piece.

Edmund Grosse sank into a low chair, crossed his legs, and looked up at
her defiantly, but with keen observation.

"It has been too absurd," he said, "you have hardly spoken to me, and
you know, of course, that I came here to see you. I meant to go to the
Riviera until I heard that you were coming here."

"But you have been quite happy, quite amused. There seemed no reason why
I should interrupt. And you know, Edmund, they said that you came here
every year."

"Well, I didn't come only to see you," he said, "as you like it better
that way. And now, it is about Miss Molly Dexter I want to speak to