"Something you left behind you at the manor," said Amberley.
There was a moment's tense silence; the brother's and sister's eyes met for an instant.
"Oh?" said Mark with forced carelessness. "What was that?"
"Just something Miss Brown dropped," said Amberley and brought out a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket. "Here it is."
The tenseness passed. Shirley took the handkerchief. "How very kind of you to go to so much trouble," she said ironically.
"Not at all," said Amberley courteously.
She stared at him in mingled surprise and hostility. Her brother, more hospitable than she, filled an awkward gap by asking Amberley if he would not stay to tea.
Amberley accepted, and meeting Shirley's indignant gaze smiled blandly at her. She swallowed something in her throat and stalked out of the room into the kitchen.
Mark began to apologise for the sparse surroundings. They had taken the cottage for a month, he said. They both worked in town - here his eyes shifted from Amberley's for a moment - and were on holiday. Shirley was Anne March's secretary. He expected that Amberley knew the name. She was a novelist and wrote pretty good tripe. Asked where he himself worked he answered uncommunicatively that it was in a bank. From his somewhat shamefaced manner and from the knowledge that bank clerks were not in the habit of enjoying a whole month's holiday, Amberley guessed that this job had come to an abrupt end. He was not surprised, but with rare tact led the talk away from such uncomfortable topics.
When Shirley reappeared with the tea-tray he was admiring a kaross of King Jackal skins which had been flung over the horsehair sofa. He said that a friend of his had brought one home from Durban. Mark replied that the shops there had lots of them; they were bought mostly by tourists.