peatedly. His hands are slender, smooth and—but for a single finger, stained yellow by smoke—quite white.
''Miss Lilly,'' he says, as he bends towards me. The lock of hair falls forward, the stained hand lifts to brush it back. His voice is very low, I suppose for my uncle''s sake. He must have been cautioned in advance, by Mr Hawtrey.
Mr Hawtrey is a London bookseller and publisher, and has been
many times to Briar. He takes my hand and kisses it. Behind him comes Mr Huss. He is a gentleman collector, a friend from my uncle''s youth. He also takes my hand, but takes it to draw me closer to him, then kisses my cheek. ''Dear child,'' he says.
I have been several times surprised by Mr Huss upon the stairs. He likes to stand and watch me climb them.
''How do you do, Mr Huss?'' I say now, making him a curtsey.
But it is Mr Rivers I watch. And once or twice, when I turn my face his way, I find his own eyes fixed on me, his gaze a thoughtful one. He is weighing me up. Perhaps he has not supposed I would be so handsome. Perhaps I am not so handsome as rumour has had him think. I cannot tell. But, when the dinner-bell sounds and I move to my uncle''s side to be walked to the table, I see him hesitate; then he chooses the place next to mine. I wish he had not. I think he will continue to watch me, and I don''t like to be watched, while eating. Mr Way and Charles move softly about us, filling our glasses—mine, that crystal cup, cut with an M. The food is set upon our plates, then the servants leave: they never stay when we have company, but return between courses. At Briar we eat, as we do everything, by the chiming of the clock. A supper of gentlemen lasts one hour and a half.