"And I expect they like one another, so it's all harmonious," said Irene; but she repented the next moment. "I don't believe anything bad. But he's very silly about her. It'll all pass." After a moment, thanks to the new hope in her, she added a courageous generalisation. "Such nonsense never lasts long," she said. Then she looked at Alice, and it struck her suddenly that Alice would have referred to the news about Jack Fenning, had she known it; it seemed odd that everybody should not have heard of a subject so rich in interest.
"You know about Mr. Fenning?" she asked.
"Mr—? Oh, yes! You mean Miss Pinsent's husband? I know she has a husband, of course."
Then she did not know the new development.
"I've got a bit of news for you," said Irene luxuriously. "Guess."
"I won't guess even to please you. I hate guessing."
"Well, Mr. Fenning's coming home. I'll tell you all about it."
Beyond the bare fact there was in reality very little to tell, but the fact was capable of being clothed with so much meaning, of being invested with so many attendant possibilities, of taking on such various colours, that it seemed in itself a budget of news. Alice did justice to its claims; she was undeniably interested; the two found themselves talking it over in a vein which prevented them from pretending to one another that they were not both excited about it. They felt like allies who rejoiced together at the coming of a reinforcement. Irene's satisfaction was open and declared; Alice was more reticent and inclined to thoughtfulness. But even as an abstract existence on the other side of the world Mr. Fenning had comforted her; his virtue as a balm was endlessly multiplied by the prospect of his arrival in concrete form and flesh.
"The men amuse me," said Irene loftily. "They're all pitying Ora; they don't seem to give a thought to poor Mr. Fenning."
"Have you seen Ashley since—since the news came?"