Free Sister of the Housemaster by Eleanor Farnes Page B

be frightened of any committee. But perhaps it did not. When it came to business and aeroplanes and complicated technical and mathematical matters, he had to rely on other things. Things, Ingrid realised, that he undoubtedly possessed, but that he had never permitted her to see in him. She wished him success with his committee, and then turned her mind resolutely to lunch.
    That afternoon, a clear cold one with a high wind blowing, she walked to the playing fields to watch a rugger match. She went because she knew Laurence liked her to be there, but she also went because it meant an afternoon in the open air, the refreshing sight of boys abandoned to their sport, the excitement and lusty yells of the onlookers — all of which she found a fine stimulant. She wore a suit of brown corduroy velvet, with a yellow woollen scarf and a small yellow hat on the back of her head. Laurence was aware of her the moment she set foot on the field, although he was not free just then to go to her. He had thought she could never look more beautiful than she had in white net the evening before. Now he saw that brown velvet and a yellow scarf were just as kind to her.
    After the match, as she walked back, he caught up with her.
    “ Not so fast, ” he said. “ We shall get there much too quickly. Do you have to go back at once ? ”
    “ There is no urgency. Miss Everton is managing Sylvia ’ s tea for me today. ”
    “ Then walk with me into the town. I have one or two things to buy. I might even give you a cup of tea at the Silver Kettle. ”
    “ Good. That will be nice. ”
    “ Pity I can ’ t hold your arm this time. ”
    “ In broad daylight? With boys popping round every corner? I ’ m sure they have you marked down already, without that. ”
    “ Yes, I suppose so. Then we will walk sedately apart. I have to go to the bookshop, and ... oh, let us stop here. You would like some flowers, wouldn ’ t you? ”
    In spite of her protests, he bought her two large bunches of fragrant violets, and they went on to the bookshop. He had ordered some modern fiction in Italian and French, and when they went on to the Silver Kettle for their cup of tea, he unwrapped the paper to look at the books.
    “ How clever you are, ” said Ingrid. “ It ’ s always so difficult for me to remember that you are what Arnold calls a language wizard. ”
    “ I ’ m glad you find something about me to admire. ”
    “ Oh, how modest. You know there is plenty for me to admire. ”
    “ Such as? ”
    “ That I refuse to tell you. It is deliberate fishing for compliments. ”
    “ No, it isn ’ t, Ingrid. It is seeking for reassurance. ”
    “ Why should you need reassuring? ”
    “ Because, when I am with you, I feel such a clumsy and dull clod. ”
    “ But why should I make you feel like that? ”
    “ Because you are so f i ne-drawn, so vital, so colorful. I feel that you have settled down here among us only temporarily, like some beautiful migrant bird only waiting to be on the wing again ...”
    “ Oh, you can go on and on and on, ” said Ingrid. “ Nobody ever says such nice things to me. ”
    “ But I am serious. And you have interesting work waiting for you, which you must be often thinking of. And as soon as Sylvia can spare you, you will fly away. While I stay here, cramming languages into a lot of grubby schoolboys. ”
    “ Well, it doesn ’ t seem like that to me at all, ” said Ingrid. “ Clumsy and dull are the last words that I should apply to you. You ’ re thoroughly nice and I like you very much. ”
    His face broke into a pleased smile, just as the waitress brought their tea. Ingrid, busying herself with tea and milk and sugar, wondered why her last sentence had such a familiar ring; and then remembered that Patrick had said such words to her. And she had simply mistrusted him. What if Laurence had mistrusted her words and thrown them back at her? She would have been hurt, of course; so perhaps, she had hurt Patrick ’ s