Chapter 5 : Are You Out Of Your Mind

He was wearing white sportswear with sweaty hair. Penelope squinted, thinking that she may see a glimpse of the shape of his chest muscles. He couldn't be clothed any thinner, was he?

"What are you looking at?" The man was about to enter the house and found her sitting in the yard.

Penelope was caught peeping. She doesn't panic. Instead, she smiled and said, "You are in great shape."

He suddenly turned to her and lowered his voice to say, "Are you out of your mind?"

Penelope considered the man as a freak who felt offended when being praised by a beautiful lady.

Meanwhile, the butler came out of the tool room with a pair of scissors. Penelope started to complain to the butler that it was so rude of the man to run into their house.

The butler smiled at the man and greeted him, "Good morning, Mr. Duncan. Breakfast is ready."

Penelope almost froze, he, he is Mr. Duncan?

She was just joking... Mr. Duncan?

Warren gave her a cold look as if he was looking at a shameless woman.

"Err, I can explain it...." Penelope couldn't help but trot to keep up with him as he strode inside.

"Please wait, don't get it wrong!"

She is definitely not the kind of woman who would flirt with her boyfriend's uncle!

Penelope caught up with him on the stairs. She reached out her hand and tried to grab his sleeve. He escaped. She tumbled on the wooden staircase in a standard kowtow posture.

Both of them stop. One is numb because of the great pain. The other is scared.

He pulled her up gently, "Does it hurt?"

Penelope didn't loosen her hands with tears in her eyes. She explains earnestly, "I have face blindness, did not mean to...."

"I asked you if it hurts." He insisted.

"It hurts, but I still have to say, I'm not a nymphomaniac, I just have face blindness."

Warren let go of his hands. "You are a nymphomaniac with face blindness."

Penelope puckered her lips. "It's just blindness. I am far away from a nymphomaniac."

He glanced at her knees and said, "Go apply some ointment, and don't follow me."

"Oh." Penelope loosened her hand from his sleeves, rubbed her knees, and walked away.

He glanced at the place where she fell.

Fortunately, there is no hole.

After breakfast, they take a car to the Duncan's House, where Asher's grandparents live.

Penelope was impressed by the scenery outside the window. She compared it to New York, faintly expecting London to win.

"Were you born with face blindness?" He put his phone down and asked her.

Penelope glanced at him, "Yes."

"You can't see others' faces clearly? Or you can't recognize others' faces?"

"I can see it clearly. I just can't recognize it." Penelope used an example to prove her point. "For instance, I know that Brad Pitt is very, very handsome, but I will mistake him for Schwarzenegger the next time I meet him."

"You don't need to give an example to illustrate your degree of nymphomaniac." Warren brutally answered her.

"It's face blindness," Penelope snorted and corrected him.

"Why did you recognize the butler and Mrs. Brown but make a mistake identifying me?" He asked again.

Penelope is getting nervous. Finally, Mr. Duncan began to question her, she thought.

"I have gotten along with them for a week. It is easy for me to identify their faces after seeing them so many times."

"You are not telling the truth," Warren glanced at her, speaking with absolute certainty.

Penelope licked her lips, feeling more nervous.

"Well, I can recognize them because I know that there is only one Mrs. Brown and a butler in the house. They are a man and a woman. It is easy for me to guess who they are."

"So, you can't recognize them if they are in the crowd?"

"Yes."

Warren nodded and stopped asking.

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Penelope tilted her head, looking at him.

"Face blindness is a kind of disease. Although it is related to the brain, it is not enough to prove that you are an idiot." He said seriously.

Penelope sat up straight. "It sounds like you are finding an excuse for me..." The driver ground his teeth to refrain from laughing.

The car entered the Duncan's House. Looking at the great expansive landscape, Penelope cannot help but revile Asher in her mind. It is absolute nonsense for the working class to live in such a house!

The driver parked the car in the garage. Penelope stood in the doorway, nervously holding her hands. She stared at the complicated and delicate pattern on the door, feeling even guiltier.

"What are you doing?" He pushed the door and urged her inside.

"Ah, right." Penelope looked down and followed hastily.

Penelope has seen houses on the Upper East Side of New York. Compared to Duncan's House, she can only conclude that the poor live in similar places, but the rich have various options.

"Is this an oil painting?" Penelope asked, pointing to the picture on the wall.

"What do you know about oil paintings?" Warren glanced at the landscape painting.

"Famous, beautiful, and colorful." Penelope gave three keywords.

Warren was about to ask if she is British, but on second thought, she really isn't from the perspective of nationality.

He answered directly, "This is watercolor, not an oil painting."

"What's the difference?"

"Do you have a cell phone?" he asked.

"Of course.", She answered immediately.

"Google it," he said.

Penelope was speechless, ".." Is she despised, or is he simply impatient? She hoped it was the latter.

Warren led her forward. Penelope is awed by the magnificent architecture.

"Speak of the devil, here comes master Warren," Said a loud voice.

"What have you been busying yourself with recently? You haven't been back home in such a long time." A slightly older voice called with laughter and groaned, sounding very comfortable.

"I was away on business. Have you been well?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

Penelope raised her head and plunged into a pair of gloomy eyes. "Is this Asher's girlfriend?"

Mrs. Duncan seemed to be staring at her without scruple. In this old lady's eyes, Penelope's appearance and temperament can barely compare to a maid in this house.

"Yes, she is." Warren picked up the teacup and looked at her. "Why are you still standing? Come here!"

Penelope felt awkward. "How do you do? I'm Penelope Seinfeld."

"Sit down, please." The old lady lifted her chin.

Penelope sat down and was ready for her inquiry.

"Miss Seinfeld, how did you get to know each other?" Mrs. Duncan sat on the sofa, looking at her.

"We attend the same class."

"Oh? Are you schoolmates?" Mrs. Duncan seemed to be a little interested in her.