Free Sister of the Housemaster by Eleanor Farnes

still looking into the flames.
    “ But you don ’ t like me either; and indifference is a challenge to my pride. In this ease, at least. ”
    “ Why in this case? ” she asked. “ Must you have everybody fawning on you? ”
    “ I don ’ t want anybody to fawn on me, ” he said quietly. “ I should dislike that. ” He was standing behind her, and quite close to her. “ Indifference is a challenge to me, in this case, because I like you very much indeed, Ingrid. ” Suddenly, she felt his hands on her shoulders. “ Can ’ t we try to be friends — would it be so difficult? ” His voice was low and persuasive and very pleasant.
    For a moment, Ingrid stood still under the touch of his hands, then she twisted herself away with a swift movement. Almost an angry move men t. Yet when she turned to face him she was completely calm.
    “ If people have to try to be friends, ” she said, “ it doesn ’ t seem worth the effort. Friendship should be something spontaneous, surely. ”
    “ And in thi s case, it isn ’ t? Is that what you mean? ” He turned away from her, picking up his white silk scarf from an armchair. “ I don ’ t enjoy being snubbed any more than most people, ” he said. “ I think I will go back to the dance. ”
    “ Oh, I ’ m sorry, ” she said quickly. “ I have been very rude. ”
    “ You have been very frank, but I asked for it. Don ’ t worry, Ingrid. It has penetrated into my thick skull that you have no particular use for me .. . Are you coming back? ”
    “ No, thank you. ”
    “ Then I will say good-bye. I am making a very early start in the morning — I have important appointments tomorrow that I must not miss. In fact, it will hardly be worth while to go to bed at all. ”
    He paused at the door and looked back at her. “ Goodnight, Ingrid. ”
    “ Good night, Patrick. ”
    He had gone. Ingrid stood by the fire, motionless, still watching the door that had closed quietly behind him. She had enjoyed their brief exchange while it was going on, but now she began to feel ashamed of herself. She had been childish, as he had been quick to see and to point out, while he had behaved very well. And most charmingly. That was the rub. It had almost worked on her this evening, this charm of his. She could feel again the touch of his cool hands on her shoulders, hear his low, persuasive voice saying, “ but I like you very much indeed, Ingrid, ” and asking if they could not be friends. She might have turned back to him with a smile, agreeing that they might, and then she would have been one of the many who could not hold out against him. Why, even now, he was going back to the dance, probably to dance until the early hours of the morning, the not-so-early hours of four or five, seeing the majority of the guests, and then joining forces with the few privileged ones who would raid the kitchens for bacon and eggs — the privileged ones who could sleep well into the ne x t day. His hands would be gentle on somebody else ’ s shoulders, on the softness of silk or the roughness of lace, and she could hear his voice saying: “ Good, then we are friends now, for I like you very much too, Pamela ” — or Letty, or Dorothy, or whoever else he happened to be with.
    “ Of course, ” she told herself suddenly, frankly, “ You are being grossly unfair to him. He shows no signs of being a philanderer. He is a busy person with plenty of work to do, and why shouldn ’ t he enjoy his free hours? The trouble is that you can ’ t be fair to him because you just don ’ t like him. And yet it isn ’ t exactly that either, as I told myself this evening. It ’ s just that he riles me, something about him annoys me. I won ’ t think about the man. He will be off early in the morning, and I can stop being irritable. ”
    Early in the morning, however, she was still attacked by a feeling of guilt. She heard him moving about quietly in his room, and decided that she would c o ok him some