"I've had a letter from Mr. Jarrott," he said, making himself comfortable, while she moved the tea-table in front of her. "He wrote to me, partly as Stephens and Jarrott's legal adviser, and partly as a friend."
He allowed that information time to sink in before continuing.
"He tells me Miss Jarrott is on her way home, with Evie."
"Yes; Evie herself wrote me that. I got the letter at Cherbourg."
"Then she probably told you about the house."
"The house? What house?"
"The house they've asked me to take for the winter—for Miss Jarrott and her."
The tea-things came, giving her the relief of occupation. She said nothing for the moment, and her attention seemed concentrated on the rapid, silent movements of her own hands among the silver and porcelain. Once she looked up, but her glance fell as she saw his small, keen, gray-green eyes scanning her obliquely.
"So I'm not to have her?" she said, at last.
"It's only for this winter—"