The meeting at the Rectory had passed off well enough. Standing
between Mr. Beebe and Cecil, she had made a few temperate
allusions to Italy, and George had replied. She was anxious to
show that she was not shy, and was glad that he did not seem shy
either.
"A nice fellow," said Mr. Beebe afterwards "He will work off his
crudities in time. I rather mistrust young men who slip into life
gracefully."
Lucy said, "He seems in better spirits. He laughs more."
"Yes," replied the clergyman. "He is waking up."
That was all. But, as the week wore on, more of her defences
fell, and she entertained an image that had physical beauty.
In spite of the clearest directions, Miss Bartlett contrived to
bungle her arrival. She was due at the South-Eastern station at
Dorking, whither Mrs. Honeychurch drove to meet her. She arrived
at the London and Brighton station, and had to hire a cab up. No
one was at home except Freddy and his friend, who had to stop
their tennis and to entertain her for a solid hour.
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