"I remember your saying," she remarked, "you would go for your next holiday to the Basque country."
"Did I? Yes—when you had been talking much about it. But since then I've had no holiday."
"No holiday—all this time?"
Rosamund's brows betrayed her sympathy.
"How long is it since we were together in Switzerland?" asked Will, dreamily, between puffs. "This is the second summer, isn't it? One loses count of time, there in London. I was saying to Franks the other day—"
He stopped, but not abruptly; the words seemed to murmur away as his thoughts wandered. Rosamund's eyes were for a moment cast down. But for a moment only; then she fixed them upon him in a steady, untroubled gaze.
"You were saying to Mr. Franks—?"
The quiet sincerity of her voice drew Warburton's look. She was sitting straight in the cane chair, her hands upon her lap, with an air of pleasant interest.
"I was saying—oh, I forget—it's gone."
"Do you often see him?" Rosamund inquired in the same calmly interested tone.