"You are a stranger?" he asked pleasantly, and Bles liked him.
"Yes, sir," he answered, and they fell to talking. He discovered that
this was the pastor of the church.
"Do you know no one in town?"
"One or two of my fellow clerks and Mr. Stillings. Oh, yes, I've met
Miss Wynn."
"Why, here is Miss Wynn now."
Bles turned. She was right behind him, the centre of a group. She
turned, slowly, and smiled.
"Oh!" she uttered twice, but with difference cadence. Then something
like amusement lurked a moment in her eye, and she quietly presented
Bles to her friends, while Stillings hovered unnoticed in the offing:
"Miss Jones--Mr. Alwyn of--" she paused a second--"Alabama. Miss
Taylor--Mr. Alwyn--and," with a backward curving of her neck, "Mr.
Teerswell," and so on. Mr. Teerswell was handsome and indolent, with
indecision in his face and a cynical voice. In a moment Bles felt the
subtle antagonism of the group. He was an intruder. Mr. Teerswell nodded
easily and turned away, continuing his conversation with the ladies.
But Miss Wynn was perverse and interrupted. "I saw you enjoyed the
concert, Mr. Alwyn," she said, and one of the young ladies rippled
audibly. Bles darkened painfully, realizing that these people must have
been just behind him. But he answered frankly:
"Yes, I did immensely--I hope I didn't disturb you; you see, I'm not
used to hearing such singing.
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