"I think you know Miss Jordan," Jefferson resumed.
Betty stopped her typewriter. She was in the shadow and studied Olivia, who stood where the strong light shone into the room. Betty thought her clothes were made in London or Paris; they were in the latest exaggerated fashion, but she admitted that Miss Brown's beauty justified her wearing clothes like that. Betty, herself, wore plain white, and a cheap, Spanish sewing woman had helped her to make the dress.
"It looks as if you had got up before Harry, although you kept him for some time last night," Olivia said to Jefferson, and took out a small packet. "He had not begun his breakfast when the mail arrived with some samples you want for Morocco. Harry thought Mr. Musgrave might leave them for your agent at Saffi, but our man was not about and I was going to the shops."
Jefferson pulled out his watch. "Thanks, I'll send the thing on board. I'm going up town. Will you come along?"
"I'll stop in your cool office for a few minutes," Olivia replied, and Jefferson turned to Betty.
"Felix will be around soon. Send him off with the packet. I expect Musgrave will be at the Commandancia. You have about half an hour."
He went off and Olivia lighted a cigarette. She threw the match on the floor, and although people smoke in Spanish offices Betty was annoyed. She wondered whether Miss Brown's carelessness was studied, but after a few moments Olivia gave her a thoughtful look.
"I understand Kit Musgrave is an old friend of yours."
"He is my friend," said Betty.
"Then I expect you know he's satisfied with his post. All the same, he ought to give it up."