judging from the look on the faces of two young women behind the counter, he rather thought it must have been the boy scouts.
It was during the evening of the day of this last adventure that he asked himself whether or no he were altogether wise in neglecting his acquaintance. Possibly the Rain-Girl knew some one he knew. Why not put a bold face on things and let people know that he was back in town? Tell them frankly that the country was too episodic for a man unprovided with a long line of bucolic ancestors. They would laugh, the men would indulge in superficial jokes at his expense, and the women would look at him a little pityingly, as they always looked at Edward Seymour. Why any one should want to pity Edward Seymour seemed difficult to understand. Those who merited pity were the poor unfortunates who had to live or associate with him.
Yes, in future he would look out for old friends rather than avoid them. He would run round and see his cousin, Lord Drewitt. The one thing he would not do, however, was to call upon Aunt Caroline. That would be like firing at a water-spout, a deliberate invitation to trouble.
