KIPPS
a state of tremulous excitement on account of the presence of Miss Walshingham. He glanced from Miss Coote to her brother and then at Helen. He regarded her over the top of his cup as he drank. Here she was, solid and real. It was wonderful. He remarked, as he had done at times before, the easy flow of the dark hair back from her brow over her ears, the shapeliness of the white hands that came out from her simple white cuffs, the delicate pencilling of her brow.
Presently she turned her face to him almost suddenly, and smiled with the easiest assurance of friendship.
"You will go, I suppose," she said, and added, "to the Recital."
"If I'm in Folkestone I shall," said Kipps, clearing away a little hoarseness. "I don't know much about music, but what I do know I like."
"I'm sure you'll like Paderewski," she said.
"If you do," he said, "I dessay I shall."
He found Coote very kindly taking his cup.
"Do you think of living in Folkestone?" asked Miss Coote, in a tone of proprietorship, from the hearthrug.
"No," said Kipps, "that's jest it—I hardly know." He also said that he wanted to look round a bit before doing anything. "There's so much to consider," said Coote, smoothing the back of his head.
"I may go back to New Romney for a bit," said Kipps. "I got an Uncle and Aunt there. I reely don't know."
Helen regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.
196
