"Really—I—I don't know anything about all this. It—it doesn't concern me. Please—go."
Florrie had broken down completely and was weeping softly into a lace handkerchief.
She moved toward the door. Elaine followed her.
"Jennings—please see the lady to the door."
Back in the drawing room, Elaine almost seized the photographs and hurried into the library where she could be alone. There she stood gazing at them—doubt, wonder, and fear battling on her plastic features.
Just then she heard the bell and Jennings in the hall.
She shoved the photographs away from her on the table.
It was Kennedy himself, close upon the announcement of the butler. He was in a particularly joyous and happy mood, for he had stopped at Martin's.
"How are you this afternoon?" he greeted Elaine gaily.
Elaine had been too overcome by what had just happened to throw it off so easily, and received him with a quickly studied coolness.