She changed the subject abruptly.
“When did you last hear from home?”
I thought it sufficient to say: “Not for a long time. I may as well admit that nowadays I never hear from home at all.”
“And, if it’s not a rude question, why don’t you?”
“Partly, I suppose, because I don’t write.”
“So I understood from Jack. But, Frank dear, do you think it kind?”
I broke in with the question, the answer to which I had really come to get, “When did you last see Jack?”
“About eighteen months ago; just before he was married. He knew you were somewhere about, but he wasn’t confidential on the subject.”
“No; he wouldn’t be. Did he seem all right?”
“Quite; and awfully in love with Mary Sweet. What’s she like, really?”