"The fine morning tempted me out, and as Lucy Foster was passing with the car, I thought I'd look your sister up," she said. "But I'm afraid you're in trouble. The last time we met you had a downcast air and you don't look much brighter to-day."
"It's unpleasant to think I'm in the habit of showing my feelings so plainly," he answered.
"You don't, but your moody calm has its meaning. I've known you long enough to recognize it. You can't deny that something is disturbing you."
"No," said Challoner. "I'm not clever enough to hide it from your keen eyes."
"They're very friendly, as you know. I'll strain a friend's privilege far enough to guess that your perplexities began the last time you and Mrs. Chudleigh met."
He wondered how much she knew and longed to confide in her. She was very staunch, but his secret must be kept until he had learned the truth.
"I'm sorry, Margaret, but I can't tell you what is troubling me."
She made a sign of acquiescence. "You would if it were possible and I won't press you, but you know I can be trusted if you need me. I was afraid of that woman; I felt she threatened you."
Their glances met and lingered, and Challoner felt that the reason for his grief was but thinly veiled from her. Still, for his son's sake, he could not confirm her suspicions, and he broke into a dry smile.
"I believe you tried to protect me, and it certainly wasn't your fault that you failed. I appreciate it, Margaret, but after all there may be less cause for anxiety than I imagine, and we'll talk about something else. Will you come up to the house?"