He ate
tea-cake, smiled and shook hands with Peter, listened for half an hour
to the spirited conversation of his two children and trotted away again,
leaving behind him an atmosphere of gentle politeness and an amazing
_savoir-faire_ that one saw his children struggling to catch. They finally
gave it up about half-past five and retreated, pressing Peter to pay them a
call at the earliest opportunity.
This was positively all that Peter saw, on this occasion, of Henry Galleon.
It was quite enough to give him a great deal to think about, but it could
scarcely be called a meeting.
At quarter to six when Peter was in despair and Alice Galleon had ordered
the tea-things to be taken away Clare Rossiter rushed in. She stood a
whirlwind of flying colours in the middle of the Studio now sinking into
twilight. "Alice dear, I am most terribly sorry but mother _would_ stay. I
couldn't get her to leave and it was all so awkward. How do you do, Mr.
Westcott? Do you remember--we met at Treliss--and now I must rush back this
very minute. We are dining at seven before the Opera, and father wants that
music you promised him--the Brahms thing. Oh! is it upstairs? Well, if you
don't mind...."
Alice Galleon left them together. Peter could say nothing at all. He stood
there, shifting from foot to foot, white, absolutely tongue-tied.
She felt his embarrassment and struggled.
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