Millie stood at the window, her back to her mother.
“Never mind,” she said at last. “You have earned his gratitude.”
“Why?”
“He is not very happy, so he likes to be alone.”
Mrs Ravenhill laid down the photographs she was examining, and stared.
“Not happy? Millie, you catch up absurd fancies! The man eats, drinks, talks, as usual. He has not been confiding in you?”—quickly.
The “No” came with a sigh.
Her mother heard the “No,” and not the sigh, and took up the photographs again.
“Then I wouldn’t waste my pity. I will tell you what I think. Mr Wareham has lived in his own interests till he has grown selfish; the large party and the little rubs did not please him, and he came away. He is welcome to go where he likes. All that I complain of is that he seems to think he owes nothing to us. You see what I mean?”
“Yes.”