I was lucky in getting a lift out."
"You certainly were," his uncle said, dryly. "However, I'm glad you
didn't have to wait in the township. You'd have found it slow."
"I'd probably have gone back," said Cecil.
"Ah--would you?" Mr. Linton looked for a moment very much as though he
wished he had done so. There was an uncomfortable pause, to which the
summons to dinner formed a welcome break.
Dinner was very different from the usual cheery meal. Cecil was not
shy, and supplied most of the conversation as a matter of course; and
his conversation was of a kind new to Norah. She remained unusually
silent, being, indeed, fully occupied in taking stock of this novel
variety of boy. She wondered were all city boys different from those
she knew. Jim was not like this; neither were the friends he was
accustomed to bring home with him. They were not a bit grown up, and
they talked of ordinary, wholesome things like cricket and football,
and horses, and dormitory "larks," and were altogether sensible and
companionable. But Cecil's talk was of theatres and bridge parties,
and--actually--clothes! Horses he only mentioned in connexion with
racing, and when Mr. Linton inquired mildly if he were fond of dances,
he was met by raised eyebrows and a bored disclaimer of caring to do
anything so energetic.
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