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Monica saw Captain Ingpen once again before the summer was over. He came down seldom, it seemed, leaving most of the ordering of his new home to Norah’s efficient hands, but on going one afternoon to have a practice with Celia she found him at the cottage, seated in the window behind Norah and the tea-table, stretching out one hand to stir the cup of tea that stood on the window-sill beside him and turning the pages of a book with the other. He was an inconsiderate person; she had said that of him, on sufficient evidence, she thought, and his desultory manner as he sat there now, reading his book and drinking his tea, reinforced the opinion. He was not surly or discourteous in his withdrawal; but he was certainly not assiduous, and it vexed Monica a little to see that he treated her dear Celia with as little ceremony as he did his niece. As she greeted them all she felt that her smile, though including, passed him over intentionally, and hoped that he would feel the edge of its aloofness. He remained standing, dark against the window, for a moment after she had taken her place, his head bent forward,