“Yes,” she said dubiously, “I guess he must have.”
Mason nodded to the girl who stood in the doorway. “Tell Mr. Cullens he can come in,” he instructed.
Virginia Trent’s hands became nervous on her lap. She said uneasily, “Oh, I can’t face him! I don’t know what to say. I just can’t think of the proper thing to tell him.”
“What’s wrong with telling him the truth?” Mason asked.
“But I don’t know the truth,” she said.
“Well, why not tell him that?”
“Because... oh, I don’t know. I just can’t bear to...”
The door from the outer office was pushed open by a beefy individual in the late forties, who ignored Mason entirely, to stride across to where Virginia Trent was seated in the big leather chair. “What the devil’s all the run-around, Virgie?” he asked.
She avoided his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Where’s your aunt?”