He felt that his smile
was ghastly; but, as she seemed not to perceive it, he drew the
conclusion that the ghastliness was within.
She answered languidly. "Yes, so so. It might have been pleasanter if it
hadn't been for that awful man."
"Who? Young Davenant? I don't see anything awful about him."
"I dare say there isn't, really--in his place. He may be only prosy.
However," she added, more brightly, "it doesn't matter for once. Good
night, papa dear. You look tired. You ought to go to bed. I've seen to
the windows in the drawing-room, but I haven't put out the lights."
Having kissed him and patted him on the cheek, she turned to go up the
stairway. He allowed her to ascend a step or two. It was the minute to
speak.
"I'm sorry you feel that way about young Davenant. I rather like him."
He had not chosen the words. They came out automatically. To discuss
Davenant offered an excuse for detaining her, while postponing the blow
for a few minutes more.
"Oh, men would," she said, indifferently, without turning round. "He's
their style."
"Which is to his discredit?"
"Not to his discredit, but to his disadvantage. I've noticed that what
they call a man's man is generally something of a bore.
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