"Are you being catty?" Grace said. She looked at me with surprise in her beautiful eyes.
"I—I don't know," I said miserably. "I think I'm trying to be."
Grace turned.
"Pam, have you really been hearing from Walter Markham?" she said quietly.
I looked beyond her, up at the great bunch of blackberries gleaming like black diamonds in the sun. They seemed like a bunch of eyes watching me.
Suddenly I felt good; I felt as if my silly little soul were enlarging and bubbling to the surface. I knew why Grace asked—she asked for herself and Cheneston, she wanted to think I cared for Walter Markham.
"Yes," I said, "I have."
"Does—Captain Cromer know?" she said.
"You heard me say I had heard from him last night in your drawing-room."
"I know, and then you burst into tears. I was so glad you did."