Mrs. Severn also liked to be appreciated. But she was so well accustomed
to admiration that a compliment had to be either very adroit or very
original to stir her. If I had told her that somebody had said her
singing was delightful, she would probably have shrugged her shoulders
and changed the subject. But instead of that, on my next meeting with
her some weeks after the party, I told her that the shy man and I had
become friendly as a result of our End House visit, and that he had been
greatly impressed by her singing. "He said it made him feel
uncomfortable."
"Did he?" She was interested. "Did he really say that? ... But--but why
is he so easily made uncomfortable? I kept noticing him that night--he
_was_ unhappy, I could see. But why?"
"He can't help it. Company and crowds make him feel like that. I
shouldn't be surprised if women have the same effect."
"You know you're making him sound fearfully attractive. He isn't
engaged, then--or anything of that sort?"
"_Engaged_? Good heavens, he never speaks to any woman except his
landlady."
She paused in thought for a moment, and then said: "I think Geoffrey had
better ask him here again. Don't you agree? ... Some time when we're
just _en famille_. _You'll_ come, of course."
I said I should be very pleased to, but that I was rather doubtful
whether he would accept the invitation. She replied then, with a touch
of imperiousness: "Oh, but he _must_. It is absurd for a young man to be
shy. I shall ask Geoffrey to send him an invitation to-night."
The invitation was sent, and I chanced to be in his bed-sitting-room
when it arrived. After reading it through very slowly and carefully, he
said: "Severn wants me to go there again. On Friday. You're coming too,
but there'll be nobody else.... That shows he _did_ notice what a fool I
was at the party."
"It also shows that he doesn't think any less of you for it," I said.
He was silent for quite a couple of minutes before he announced his
decision. "I shall go," he said, "although I don't want to go."