“Tell me,” said Joe, when Pocock was gone, “do you like Mr. Vancouver? You are great friends, are you not?” John looked at her inquiringly.
“I should not say we were very great friends,” he answered, “because we are not intimate; but we have always been on excellent terms, as far as I know. Vancouver is a very clever fellow.”
“Yes,” said Joe, thoughtfully, “I fancy he is. You do not mind my having asked, do you?”
“Not in the least,” said John, quietly. His face had grown very grave again, and he seemed suddenly absorbed by some thought. “Let us sit down,” he said presently, and the two installed themselves on a divan in a corner.
“You are not in the least inquisitive,” remarked Joe, as soon as they were settled.
“What makes you say that?” asked John.
“It was such a silly thing, you know, and you never asked what it was all about.”
“When you called me? No–I did not hear what led up to it, and I supposed from what you said afterwards that I understood.”
“Did you? What did you think?” asked Joe.
“I thought from the question about Vancouver that you wanted to put us into an awkward position in order to find out whether we were friends.”