It was merely, as I have said, that she could no longer endure a _tete-a-tete_ with one she knew so little as herself, and whose acquaintance she was so little desirous of cultivating.
Tom had been to a small party at the house a few evenings before, brought thither by the well-known leader of a certain literary clique, who, in return for homage, not seldom, took younger aspirants under a wing destined never to be itself more than half-fledged.

It was, notwithstanding, broad enough already so to cover Tom with its shadow that under it he was able to creep into several houses of a sort of distinction, and among them into Mrs.Redmain's.
Nothing of less potency than the presumption attendant on self-satisfaction could have emboldened him to call thus early, and that in the hope not merely of finding Mrs.Redmain at home, but of finding her alone; and, with the not unusual reward of unworthy daring, he had succeeded.

He was ambitious of making himself acceptable to ladies of social influence, and of being known to stand well with such.
In the case of Mrs.Redmain he was the more anxious, because she had not received him on any footing of former acquaintance.
At the gathering to which I have referred, a certain song was sung by a lady, not without previous manoeuvre on the part of Tom, with which Mrs.Redmain had languidly expressed herself pleased; that song he had now brought her--for, concerning words and music both, he might have said with Touchstone, "An ill-favored thing, but mine own." He did not quote Touchstone because he believed both words and music superexcellent, the former being in truth not quite bad, and the latter nearly as good.

Appreciation was the very hunger of Tom's small life, and here was a chance! "I ought to apologize," he said, airily, "and I will, if you will allow me." Mrs.Redmain said nothing, only waited with her eyes.

They were calm, reposeful eyes, not fixed, scarcely lying upon Tom.