Grace looked at him with questioning surprise.
“I can tell you what she said to me on the subject,” he replied. “She said it was no woman's work, and she was tired of it.”
“She is not the woman to do anything without a motive,” mused Derrick.
“No,” returned the Curate.
A moment later, as if by one impulse, their eyes met. Grace started as if he had been stung. Derrick simply flushed.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I—I do not think I understand,” Grace faltered. “Surely I am blundering.”
“No,” said Derrick, gloomily. “You cannot blunder since you know the truth. You did not fancy that my feeling was so trivial that I could have conquered it so soon? Joan Lowrie——”
“Joan Lowrie!”
Grace's voice had broken in upon him with a startled sound.