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He clearly talked to
me because he felt it a duty, and not a pleasure."
"That's only that unfortunate manner of his," said Helen. "I really
think at heart he's dreadfully afraid of us. At least that's what Watts
says. But he only behaves as if--as if--well, you know what I mean,
Alice!"
"Exactly," said Alice. "You can't describe it. He's so cool, and stolid,
and silent, that you feel shoddy and cheap, and any simple little remark
doesn't seem enough to say. You try to talk up to him, and yet feel
small all the time."
"Not at all," said Helen. "You talk down to him, as if he
were--were--your old grandfather, or some one else you admired, but
thought very dull and old-fashioned."
"But the worst is the way he looks at you. So gravely, even when you try
to joke. Now I really think I'm passably pretty, but Mr. Stirling said
as plainly as could be: 'I look at you occasionally because that's the
proper thing to do, when one talks, but I much prefer looking at that
picture over your head.


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