“And then perhaps also tired of her?” retorted Mrs. Temple.
Again John Temple shrugged his shoulders and sat somewhat moodily glancing over the newspapers, while his uncle’s wife followed his movements with her handsome dark eyes. He interested her, this good-looking man who had taken her dead boy’s place, and having him at Woodlea made the house seem less dull. She had a strong craving for excitement, and to her anything was better than the wearisome company of her old husband. And she could not understand John Temple. He was always gentle and friendly in his manner to her, but he was never confidential. And this annoyed her. Unconsciously almost to herself she was beginning to regard him with warmer feelings than she would have cared to own. At all events she was jealous of him, and half-believed that for his sake May Churchill had left her home.
So when breakfast was over, and the squire after his usual fashion had retired to his library, Mrs. Temple went up to John, who was still reading the newspapers, and lightly touched his shoulder.
“If the truth were known, sir,” she said, smiling, “I believe you could tell us something about Miss Kathleen Weir’s diamonds.”
Again a flush rose to John Temple’s face, but this time it was an angry one.
“What makes you say such a thing?” he answered quickly.
“Because I was watching you when you first heard of the robbery. Ah, my nephew John, I fear you are not as good as you look.”
“You have a most brilliant imagination, my handsome aunt!”
“Do not call me by that odious name! But perhaps I have more discernment than you give me credit for.”