you’re right. You’ve got to keep something in reserve for yourself, to prevent people like us from thinking that we’ve hired more of you than your services. I daresay you’ve even got a private life of your own, over there in England?”
“I daresay.” Joanna’s tone was dry. “Most people have, haven’t they?” What an incalculable person he was! In as many sentences he had swept from offence to rebuke and now to mild impertinences of his own.
“Er — family — and all that?”
“My people are dead.”
“Habitat?”
“London.”
“Hobbies? Recreations?”
Joanna laughed. “Oh — the usual feminine variety. Not very interesting ones.”
“Evidently you’ve been taught not to confide in strangers! How long must you know me before it will be proper to mention what an orphan nurse in London does with her spare time?”
Joanna picked up his tea-tray and prepared to leave the room.
“I’d willingly tell you now, if I thought you’d be i nterested. But you wouldn’t be,” she remarked.
“No, perhaps not.” He stretched his arms rather w e arily above his head and appeared, in a way that wa y characteristic of him, to have lost all interest in conversation. He said suddenly:
“By the way, the dogs haven’t been in here since morning . Does that represent a moral victory for you—or a gathering of the storm?”
Joanna paused by the door. “Neither, I hope,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to quarrel with Shuan. Please don’t make me think it’s inevitable!”
He laughed. “My dear Joanna— as if you or I have any say in the inevitability of that!”
By some incalculable caprice of the kitchen, dinner was served early that evening, and between seeing to Roger’s own meal and appearing in the dining-room Joanna had no time to change out of uniform.
J ustin McKiley took her hand, and after the same kind of sweeping appraising glance as he had given her at Tulleen station, smiled as if there were some secret alliance between them. René Menden, the young Belgian, slim, upright and with darkly polished hair, bowed stiffly and said:
“I have not been invited to dinner, but Mr. McKiley has said that I am ever welcome, he is sure. Correct my verbs, please?”
He spoke to Joanna , but his glance was for Shuan, who repeated mechanically: “I wasn’t invited, but Mr. McKiley said I should always be welcome. ”
René smiled gratefully at her. “Ah, yes. The past indefinite tense, rather than the past definite! I have forgotten.”
“I forgot,” corrected Shuan again, this time sounding bored.
At dinner Joanna watched them interestedly. It was plain that Mrs. Carnehill was right and that René had no eyes for anyone but Shuan. She snubbed him or ignored him or corrected his English with a bored, patient disinterest which, in his place, Joanna felt she would have resented. She was glad when, at the end of the meal, he persuaded her to take him to find a book he was going to borrow.
Joanna said to J ustin McKiley: “Mr. Carnehill told me to ask you to go and see him after dinner.”
He stirred his coffee and did not move. “Ah, time enough,” he said indifferently.
Joanna stood up. “Then I’d better go back to him .”
“What’s the hurry? I’m going to see him in a minute. Take your coffee with me at least?”
Reluctantly Joanna sat down again. She could hardly do otherwise, though she felt that by doing so she was helping him to prolong that elusive ‘minute’.
He said abruptly: “The Americans have a word for it, I believe.”
Joanna looked her bewilderment
“ ‘Rooting,’ I think they call it. At dinner you were rooting hard for young René digging your nails into your palms with anxiety for him! You are just like Mrs. Carnehill—ready to spread your wings over him to save him from Shuan’s brutality!”
“I thought she was almost rude to him, once or twice,” replied Joanna rather coolly.
“Well, you’ll agree that the young fool asks for
“I daresay.” Joanna’s tone was dry. “Most people have, haven’t they?” What an incalculable person he was! In as many sentences he had swept from offence to rebuke and now to mild impertinences of his own.
“Er — family — and all that?”
“My people are dead.”
“Habitat?”
“London.”
“Hobbies? Recreations?”
Joanna laughed. “Oh — the usual feminine variety. Not very interesting ones.”
“Evidently you’ve been taught not to confide in strangers! How long must you know me before it will be proper to mention what an orphan nurse in London does with her spare time?”
Joanna picked up his tea-tray and prepared to leave the room.
“I’d willingly tell you now, if I thought you’d be i nterested. But you wouldn’t be,” she remarked.
“No, perhaps not.” He stretched his arms rather w e arily above his head and appeared, in a way that wa y characteristic of him, to have lost all interest in conversation. He said suddenly:
“By the way, the dogs haven’t been in here since morning . Does that represent a moral victory for you—or a gathering of the storm?”
Joanna paused by the door. “Neither, I hope,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to quarrel with Shuan. Please don’t make me think it’s inevitable!”
He laughed. “My dear Joanna— as if you or I have any say in the inevitability of that!”
By some incalculable caprice of the kitchen, dinner was served early that evening, and between seeing to Roger’s own meal and appearing in the dining-room Joanna had no time to change out of uniform.
J ustin McKiley took her hand, and after the same kind of sweeping appraising glance as he had given her at Tulleen station, smiled as if there were some secret alliance between them. René Menden, the young Belgian, slim, upright and with darkly polished hair, bowed stiffly and said:
“I have not been invited to dinner, but Mr. McKiley has said that I am ever welcome, he is sure. Correct my verbs, please?”
He spoke to Joanna , but his glance was for Shuan, who repeated mechanically: “I wasn’t invited, but Mr. McKiley said I should always be welcome. ”
René smiled gratefully at her. “Ah, yes. The past indefinite tense, rather than the past definite! I have forgotten.”
“I forgot,” corrected Shuan again, this time sounding bored.
At dinner Joanna watched them interestedly. It was plain that Mrs. Carnehill was right and that René had no eyes for anyone but Shuan. She snubbed him or ignored him or corrected his English with a bored, patient disinterest which, in his place, Joanna felt she would have resented. She was glad when, at the end of the meal, he persuaded her to take him to find a book he was going to borrow.
Joanna said to J ustin McKiley: “Mr. Carnehill told me to ask you to go and see him after dinner.”
He stirred his coffee and did not move. “Ah, time enough,” he said indifferently.
Joanna stood up. “Then I’d better go back to him .”
“What’s the hurry? I’m going to see him in a minute. Take your coffee with me at least?”
Reluctantly Joanna sat down again. She could hardly do otherwise, though she felt that by doing so she was helping him to prolong that elusive ‘minute’.
He said abruptly: “The Americans have a word for it, I believe.”
Joanna looked her bewilderment
“ ‘Rooting,’ I think they call it. At dinner you were rooting hard for young René digging your nails into your palms with anxiety for him! You are just like Mrs. Carnehill—ready to spread your wings over him to save him from Shuan’s brutality!”
“I thought she was almost rude to him, once or twice,” replied Joanna rather coolly.
“Well, you’ll agree that the young fool asks for
Similar Books
