f hypocrisy.

"So you're awake!" shouted George, still a long way down the lawn.
"Good! How are you? All right?"

She nodded "Yes," with a constrained smile.

In a minute they had met, he had turned her around, and with his arm
under hers was leading her towards the house again.

"All right? Really all right?" he asked very softly, pressing her arm
with his hand and stooping his head to bring his mouth on a level with
her ear.

"Very nearly, at any rate," she answered, coldly, trying to draw away
from him.

"What are you doing that for?" he asked. "Afraid of shocking the
gardener, eh? What queer little dear little ways you've got! I suppose
Undines are like that."

He drew her closer to him as he threw back his head and laughed a noisy
laugh that jarred upon her nerves.

Milly began to feel indignant. It was just possible that a younger
sister in Australia might have married and brought this extraordinary
young man home to England, but his looks, his tone, were not fraternal;
and she had never forgotten the Maxwell Davison episode. She walked on
stiffly.

"Every one seems to be out," she observed, as calmly as she could.

He frowned.

"You mean those devils of servants haven't been looking after you?" he
asked. "Yet I gave Clarkson her orders. Of course they're baggages, but
I haven't had the heart to send them away from the old place, for who on
earth would take them? I expect we aren't improving their chances, you
and I, at this very moment; in spite of respecting the gardener's
prejudices."

He chuckled, as at some occult joke of his own.

They stooped together under the half-raised awning of the French window,
and entered the dim, flower-scented drawing-room side by side. The young
man threw off his hat, and she saw the silky ripple of his nut-brown
hair, his smooth forehead, his bright-glancing hazel eyes, all the happy
pleasantness of his countenance. Before she had had time to reconsider
her dislike of him, he had caught her in his arms and kissed her hair
and face, whispering little words of love between the kisses. For one
paralyzed moment Milly suffered these dreadful words, these horrible
caresses. Then exerting the strength of frenzy, she pushed him from her
and bounded to the other side of the room, entrenching herself behind
the big rosewood table with its smug mats and vases and albums.

"You brute! you brute! you hateful cad!" she stammered with trembling
lips; "how dare you touch me?"