She had been able to manage him then. Would she be
able to manage him now?
After dinner he grew very restless. His eyes wandered to the door,
then to his watch, then to his companions; he smiled uneasily,
pulling his moustache; then--jumping to his feet, tried to speak
with an easy self-confidence.
"I must leave you for a quarter of an hour . . . A matter of
business, only in this hotel. Downstairs. Yes. A friend of mine and
a little matter. Urgent. I'm sure you'll forgive me."
For a moment Maggie was frightened. She was here in a strange hotel
in a strange room with a man whom she scarcely knew. Then she looked
up into young Warlock's face and was reassured. She could trust him.
He stood with his arm on the shabby, dusty mantelpiece, looking down
upon her with his good-natured kindly smile, so kindly that she felt
that he was younger than she and needed protection in a world that
was filled with designing Uncle Mathews and mysterious Aunt Annes
and horrible Miss Warlocks.
He, on his side, as he looked down at her, was surprised at his own
excitement. His heart was beating, his hand trembling--before this
plain, ordinary, unattractive girl! Unattractive physically--but not
uninteresting.
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