"Don't you think it a little hard?" I ventured to say.
"I think so," said Roger.
"I don't," said my husband. "I know what in it looks like hardness; but I think it comes of the repression of feeling."
"You have studied her well for your opportunities," I said.
"I have; and I am sure, whatever Mrs. Morley may say, that, if there be any truth at all in those reports, there is some satisfactory explanation of whatever has given rise to them. I wish we knew anybody else that knew her. Do try to find some one that does, Wynnie."
"I don't know how to set about it," I said. "I should be only too glad."
"I will try," said Roger. "Does she sing?"
"I have heard Judy say she sang divinely; but the only occasion on which I met her—at their house, that time you couldn't go, Percivale—she was never asked to sing."
"I suspect," remarked Roger, "it will turn out to be only that she's something of a Bohemian, like ourselves."
"Thank you, Roger; but for my part, I don't consider myself a Bohemian at all," I said.