Maggie, nevertheless, fancied that he, young Warlock, was not listening to her.

His eyes wandered.

He had that same restlessness of body that she had before noticed in him, swinging a little on his legs set apart, his hands clasped behind his thick broad back.

He had some compelling interest for her.

He had had that, she now realised, since the first moment that she had seen him.
It might be that the things that that girl had told her about him increased her interest and, perhaps her sympathy?
But it was his strange detached air of observation that held her--as though he were a being from some other planet watching them all, liking them, but bearing no kind of relation to them except that of a cheerful observer--it was this that attracted her.