“What was it?” he asked.
“Nothing at all new,” said Somers. “You know he and I start to quarrel the moment we set eyes on one another.”
“They might be man and wife,” mocked Harriet, and again Jack turned to her a look of black, smiling, malicious recognition.
“Another quarrel?” he said quietly.
But Somers was almost sure he knew all about it, and had only come like a spy to take soundings.
“Another quarrel,” he replied, smiling, fencing. “And once more shown the door.”
“I should think,” said Harriet, “you’d soon know that door when you see it.”
“Oh, yes,” said Richard. He had not told her the worst of the encounter. He never told her the worst, nor her nor anybody.
Jack was looking from one to the other to see how much each knew.
“Was it a specially bad blow-up?” he said, in his quiet voice, that had a lurking tone of watchfulness in it.