She went out of the room quietly, with none of her usual joyous flurry. Mrs. Cloud did not watch her go. Indeed they had not once met each other’s eyes as they talked together.
Justin’s room was full of cotton-wool, and disembowelled cupboards, and drawers piled criss-cross on each other, and a Justin so happily absorbed that Laura knew she should have laughed and blessed him and settled down to help. But she could not. Even his welcome did not warm her as she stood in the doorway and watched him.
“Here you are! Good! I nearly came round for you yesterday. Now look here—would you put——” He went into details.
She spoke through them.
“Justin—you did write that letter, didn’t you?”
“But then Bellew has cases with glass tops. What letter?”
“To Mr. Wilbraham. About Coral.”
“Oh! No—not yet. I don’t believe I have.”
“Justin! And you promised Coral.”
“Well—I did mean to. I’m going to. I’ll write tonight.”