"Oh, I say—" But his jaw fell and he frowned a little.
"Good-night, Jerry, dear," she flung at him from the curve of the landing.
"Good-night, Una," he called.
The telephone bell rang the next morning before the breakfast hour and Jerry was called to it. I was in my study and the door was open. I couldn't help hearing. Marcia Van Wyck was on the wire. I couldn't hear her voice but Jerry's replies were illuminating.
"I couldn't," I heard him say, "I had guests to dinner."
Fortunately neither Una nor her mother was down.
"I didn't tell you," he replied to her question. "It was—er—rather sudden. Miss Habberton and her mother. They're staying here for a few days. How are you—? Oh, I don't see why you—What difference does that make—? Won't you come over this afternoon? Please. Why not—? I'm awfully anxious to see you. Why, I couldn't, Marcia, not just now and besides—What—?"
Apparently she had rung off. He tried to get her number and when he got it came away from the instrument suddenly, for the girl had evidently refused to talk to him.
At the breakfast table, to which the ladies but not Jack Ballard descended, he was very quiet. I pitied him, but led the conversation into easy paths in which after a while he joined us. I saw Una glancing at him curiously, but no personal comment passed and when we went out on the shaded terrace to look down toward the lake, over the shimmering summer landscape, Una took a deep breath and then gave a long sigh of delight.
"Isn't it wonderful just to live on a day like this?" And then with a laugh, "Jerry, you simply must give us Horsham Manor as a fresh air farm."