You must really be civil to him." She strolled across the lawn to where Cecil was still knocking the croquet balls about.

Jeanne sank into her place, and Forrest looked at her for a few moments attentively.
"You are a strange child," he said at last.
She glanced towards him as though she found his speech an impertinence.
Then she looked away across the old-fashioned, strangely arranged garden, with its irregular patches of many coloured flowers, its wind-swept shrubs, its flag-staff rising from the grassy knoll at the seaward extremity.

She watched the seagulls, wheeling in from the sea, and followed the line of smoke of a distant steamer.

She seemed to find all these things more interesting than conversation.
"You do not like me," he remarked quietly.

"You have never liked me." "I have liked very few of my stepmother's friends," she answered, "any more than I like the life which I have been compelled to lead since I left school." "You would prefer to be back there, perhaps ?" he remarked, a little sarcastically.
"I should," she answered.