She did not finish the sentence, but pulled herself together, and went to the study.
"Nothing important?" asked Jem. "Why, Jean!—I could almost think you had been in a passion. Pardon the idea."
"I think I have. She didn't come on business, really—only to talk gossip. I can't imagine how she had the face to ask for you; but, of course, she would have made some excuse for doing it, if you had appeared. Mother asleep, I see."
Jean fell fiercely to work over the addresses, trying to smother thought in action. There was a sore consciousness, deep down, that if this tale proved to be true, life would look very blank. She had thought herself prepared for anything—but somehow—That "somehow" meant a good deal.
For a while only the soft scratching of rival pens could be heard. Then Jem asked—
"Can you go to the Park to-day?"
"This afternoon? Does Evelyn want me?"
"She would like a call after tea. I met her before lunch."
"Miss Moggridge will be out then, I suppose. I would rather have got all this done. But if I ought—"
"I should like you to go."