But there were no confidences. The talk, as it were, shivered on the brink of a confidence, but never plunged.
"Does she guess?" Hilda reflected.
The conversation so halted that at length Janet was driven to the banality of saying:
"I'm so sorry we have to go out!"
And Hilda protested with equal banality, and added: "I suppose you're going out a lot just now?"
"Oh no!" said Janet. "We go out less and less, and we get quieter and quieter. I mean us. The boys are always out, you know." She seemed saddened. "I did think Edwin Clayhanger would come in sometimes, now they're living next door--"
"They're in their new house, then!" said Hilda, with casualness.
"Oh, long ago! And I'm sure it's ages since he was here. I like Maggie--his sister."
Hilda knelt to her trunk.
"Did he ever inquire after me?" she demanded, with an air of archness, but hiding her face.