“I forgot that water ruins stones.”
“Well, it is a consolation to know that water does not ruin a certain plain gold circlet.”
“Mr. Boswell!”
Jessica gasped and looked at the flames. A crisis had come. Would she be clever enough? Then the situation stimulated her. She held out her hand to Boswell.
“You have come to see me?” she cried delightedly. “Mr. Trent has just been telling us that you came down with him, and I hoped you would call soon.”
“Yes, to be sure—to be sure. You might have known I would call soon.” He bowed stiffly to Trent, and, seating himself close beside Jessica, murmured in her ear: “Cannot you get rid of that fellow? How did he find you out so soon?”
“Why, he came to see Edith, of course. Do you not remember how devoted he always was to her?”
“I do not—”
“May I ask what you are whispering about, Mr. Boswell?” demanded Trent, breaking from Miss Decker. “Is he confiding to you the astounding success of his last novel, Mrs. Pendleton? Or was it a history of the United States? I really forget.”
“Not the last, certainly. I leave it to you to make history—an abridged edition. My ambition is a more humble one.”