She laughed, and offered her hand. He held it very lightly, looking at her with his blue eyes, which indeed expressed a profound melancholy.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for your great kindness.”
And thereupon he opened the front door for her. Without another look Monica went quickly down the stairs; she appreciated his motive for not accompanying her to the exit.
* * * * * * * * * *
Before entering the house she had managed to conceal the sheet of music which she was carrying. But, happily, Widdowson was still absent. Half an hour passed—half an hour of brooding and reverie—before she heard his footstep ascending the stairs. On the landing she met him with a pleasant smile.
“Have you enjoyed your drive?”
“Pretty well.”
“And do you feel better?”
“Not much, dear. But it isn’t worth talking about.”
Later, he inquired where she had been.