Emboldened by desperation, Paul turned in the direction of the voice. “I am Paul Bunker,” he said hesitatingly. “I’m afraid you’ll think me intrusive, but I was looking for my uncle, and”—
“Intrusive, my dear boy! The son of my near neighbor in the country intrusive? Really, now, I like that! Grace!” (the voice turned in another direction) “here is the American nephew of our neighbor Bunker at Widdlestone, who thinks he is ‘a stranger.’”
“We all knew of your expected arrival at Widdlestone—it was so good of you to waive ceremony and join us,” said a well-bred feminine voice, which Paul at once assumed to belong to the hostess. “But I must find some one for your dinner partner. Mary” (here her voice was likewise turned away), “this is Mr. Bunker, the nephew of an old friend and neighbor i
