"Loud cheers," said the ironical Christina. "Evie—why don't you ask him to call here? I should enjoy a chat with him."
"Here?" Evie was incredulous. "How absurd! Ronnie wouldn't dream of coming here."
Christina laughed.
"I won't tease you any more, Evie. Does he ever say anything about Ambrose? He was in the prison when Ambrose was executed."
Evie writhed.
"I wish you wouldn't talk about it, Christina—in such a cold-blooded way—ugh!"
"Does he?"
"I haven't seen him since that—that awful day," she said, "and I'm sure he wouldn't talk about it." Evie hesitated. "Do you think much about Mr. Sault, Chris?"
Christina put down her knitting in her lap and nodded.
"All the time," she said, "he isn't out of my thoughts for a second. Not his face, I mean, or his awkward-looking body, but the real. Do you remember, Evie, how embarrassed I used to make him sometimes, and how he'd rub his chin with the back of his hand? I always knew when Ambrose was troubled. And how he used to sit on my bed and listen so seriously to all my wails and whines?"