“It was Fate,” said Crispin piously. “ ‘There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will.’ ”
“No doubt,” said Eleanor. “Any way, you’ve opened my eyes—wide. . . . By the way, have you got my, er, application or did you leave it on the piano?”
Crispin began to search his pockets.
“I had it,” he murmured. “I remember thinking when I was dressing ‘I must not leave that about.’ ”
“Never mind,” said Eleanor in a shaking voice. “I expect the servants have found it and thrown it away.”
“Here it is,” said Crispin triumphantly.
Eleanor snatched the letter and thrust it into her bag.
Then she rose to her feet.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I think I’ll go. Don’t let me take you away. I’m only sorry to have put you to so much expense.”
“My dear,” said Crispin, “the thought that I’ve opened your eyes makes it cheap at the price.”