“Why, he was here yesterday. He surely didn’t want his photo taken again?”
“No, I think he wanted a chat, and when he found I was alone he stayed on for company. Have you had a pleasant time? Where did you go?”
“We went and had tea,” he answered. He didn’t say where; he was ashamed to; it was one of the places where you pay for locality and Miss Bolton had not once offered to share expenses. “And then we spent a little time at the Academy—Evie’s fond of pictures you know.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” agreed Jill drily. “I have a vivid recollection of her passion for art; it was so upsetting. I suppose she shut her eyes occasionally? Some people take art like they do physic—shut their eyes and hold their noses except when nobody’s looking.”
“Jill dear, don’t be nasty,” he said.
Jill laughed.
“I can’t help it,” she answered. “I’m afraid my nature must be warped I have such a knack of being disagreeable. I could have pinched that horrid little baby this afternoon, it irritated me so; and yet I am fond of children. And I could have been exceedingly rude to Miss Bolton if she hadn’t been rude to me first;—of course I wouldn’t follow her example in anything.”
“Rude to you?—Evie? How?”
“Oh! in an entirely lady-like manner. She merely gave me to understand that she didn’t intend to recognise me, and treated me as she would any other shop assistant. Miss Bolton means taking you up and cutting your wife. I suppose she is perfectly justified.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jill,” St. John cried sharply. “Evie means nothing of the sort. She spoke of you most kindly, and said it was a pity you couldn’t go with us.”