“Call it what you like,” he returned gloomily, “but I’ve got enough of it.”
Rose half raised herself among the pillows, and for a long moment regarded him intently.
“Does your—does Mrs. Lamont know?” she ventured.
He threw up his head with a jerk.
“Yes; Nelly knows,” he declared curtly.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“How nothing?”
“She said it was my own affair,” he retorted with some heat. “Not much consolation in that,” he added, “is there?”
“Is that all she said?” she questioned him, clasping her knees, her chin buried in her hands.