"Wait till I tell you. I said, certainly, go ahead and help herself, and she kneeled down in front of the bookshelves and took out a book. I should have thought no more about it—only I happened to see the book."
"What was it?"
"You'd never guess. It was L'Abbé Constantin."
"L'Abbé Constantin!"
"Yes. Can you see Thérèse reading a thing like that, a sweet little sentimental tale they give young girls in an elementary French course?'
"Oh, so you think that was an excuse?"
"What do you think? I know it was. The point is, why should she have to invent an excuse for being in my room? No doubt she had a perfectly good reason for being there, why not say so? I daresay she likes to see herself in my mirror; it's in rather a good light. Something of that sort. What exasperates me is that she should think it worth a lie. Now I shall go on bothering my head as to why she really was there. I shall be wondering whether she came to read my letters, or something absurd like that."
He laughed lightly, his good nature restored.
"I suppose," said Esther slowly, "that there are people whose minds work in devious ways, who'd rather not give their reasons for doing things."
"You may be right. It doesn't matter a hoot what she does. Oh, by the way—did you happen to see these items in the Paris Daily Mail? They may interest you."