"They are intelligent," the governess ventured to suggest, after a
silence. "It would be a pleasure to teach them if they--if they
were a little more orderly."
"Certainly. If their parents had only common sense--"
He stopped. A flush had risen to the girl's face, and a slight
involuntary motion of her hand seemed to warn him. The reason was
that Mrs. Tootle stood in the doorway, to which he had his back
turned. Miss Enderby said a quick "good morning" and left him.
He was taking up some papers, preparatory to leaving the room, when
he noticed that the governess had left behind her a little book in
which she was accustomed to jot down lessons for the children. He
took it up and examined it. On the first page was written "Maud
Enderby, South Bank, Regent's Park." He repeated the name to himself
several times. Then he smiled, recalling the way in which the
governess had warned him that Mrs. Tootle could overhear what he
said. Somehow, this slight gesture of the girl's had seemed to bring
them closer to each other; there was an unpremeditated touch of
intimacy in the movement, which it pleased him to think of. This was
by no means the first time that he had stood with thoughts busied
about her, but the brief exchange of words and what had followed
gave something of a new complexion to his feelings.
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