“I don’t know,” said Carver. “In my profession we always apply the worst construction and we are generally right. What time do you usually go to bed?”
“At ten o’clock in the country,” she said.
“Then at ten o’clock you will go up to your room, put on your lights, and after a reasonable time, put them out again. You may, if you wish, come down, but you must be prepared to sit in the dark, and if you want to talk, you must carry on your conversation in whispers.” A rare smile softened his face. “We shall probably all be feeling a little foolish in the morning, but I would rather feel foolish than miss the opportunity of meeting the man in black.”
She gave them supper, and after the men had helped clear away the remains of the meal, Tab, at her request, filled his pipe. Carver said he did not wish to smoke.
Conversation, for some reason, seemed to flag. They sat silently about the table, each busy with his own thoughts. Suddenly Ursula said:
“I am almost inclined to make a restricted confession to you, Mr. Carver. I don’t think I should never have dreamt of doing so if I had ever met you.”
“Restricted confessions are irritating things,” said Carver, “so I don’t think I should confess if I were you, Miss Ardfern, especially as I know what the restricted confession is all about.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You know,” she said.
He nodded.