Wint said abruptly: “Your people all right?”
“Yes,” Joan told him.
He muttered angrily that that was good; and silence fell upon them again. He twisted in this silence, like a caterpillar on a pin. He was immensely relieved when Joan spoke at last.
“What shall we talk about, Wint?” she asked steadily. “Do you want to talk about your—fight? What are you doing?”
“No,” he said dourly, staring at the fire.
Joan watched him, not resenting his sullenness, because she had understanding. After a little, she said gently: “I saw your mother the other day.”
Wint shot a quick glance at her. He could not help it. “That so?” he asked.
Joan nodded, and she smiled a little wistfully. “Yes. She misses you. She and your father....”
“They haven’t told me so,” said Wint morosely.
“Have you talked with them?” she asked.