Grisel, who had poured out her coffee, leaned her chin on her clasped hands and looked at him thoughtfully.
"It is not only the music, you know," she said, "I think it is her kindness that I like so much. Although she is so little and quick, her mind always seems to jump towards the nice things in people instead of like us—we always jump towards the faults. Instinctively, we seem to, don't we, Paul?"
He was silent for a moment, apparently studying with deep interest the remains of the wasp on his plate.
"Yes, I suppose we do. You and I and Hermione certainly do. We get that from our beautiful father, no doubt. Mother and Maud are different, but then, of course Jenny Wick has had a great pull in her mother. Mrs. Wick is a fine old——" he paused, and added gravely, "fellow. That's what she is like, a fine old man, whereas our father was always like a spoilt, and—not fine—woman. By the way," he suddenly felt in his pocket. "I had a letter from father last night. He seems to be in trouble of some kind."
"He would." Grisel answered indifferently. "Perhaps Clara Crichell is sick of him; I should think she would be by this time."
Paul tossed the letter to her across the table.
"All she ever saw in him was his looks," he answered, "and he is looking particularly handsome just now—or was three weeks ago. Barclay keeps him pretty busy and he is on the water wagon, so as far as his beauty goes he is flourishing like a rose."
Grisel opened the letter, which was written in pencil on a half sheet of paper.
"Dear Paul," it said, "let me know when your mother is coming back, as I must see her. What on earth is she doing in Paris so long? They say everything is frightfully expensive there now.
"Thanks for sending me my bathing suit, I have had one or two good swims and feel the better for them. I have been trying to find new rooms. This is an awful hole I am in, but London is so full of those beastly Colonials and Americans that I cannot get in anywhere.
"Is Grisel all right? I saw her sitting in Sir John's car in front of Solomons the other day, but she did not see me. I was on a bus. I thought she looked seedy. Do write and tell me the news, and mind you let me know as soon as you know when your mother and Guy are coming back; it really strikes me as very odd her galloping about France like this at her age.