They
impressed Denzil as of a steely-grey, and seemed hard as the metal
itself. His preference was distinctly for soft feminine eyes--such
as Lilian gazed with.
Her figure was slight, but seemed strong and active. He had noticed
the evening before that, in standing to address an audience, she
looked anything but ridiculous--spite of bonnet. Here too, though
allowing her surprise to be seen, she had the bearing of perfect
self-possession, and perhaps of conscious superiority. Fawn-coloured
hair, less than luxuriant, lay in soft folds and plaits on the top
of her head; possibly (the thought was not incongruous) she hoped to
gain half an inch of seeming stature.
They shook hands, and Denzil explained his object in calling.
"Then you are going to settle at Polterham?"
"Probably--that is, to keep an abode here."
"You are not married, I think, Mr. Quarrier?"
"No."
"There was a report at the Institute last night--may I speak of
it?"
"Political? I don't think it need be kept a secret. My
brother-in-law wishes me to make friends with the Liberals, in his
place."
"I dare say you will find them very willing to meet your advances.
On one question you have taken a pretty safe line."
"Much to your disgust," said Denzil, who found himself speaking very
freely and inclined to face debatable points.
"Disgust is hardly the word.
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