She extended her feet to the warmth of the fire, and contemplated her small boots with some satisfaction.
'Yes...?'
'I have bolted,' she said, replying to the inferred query, 'and he is in all probability after me.'
Mrs. Wylie turned aside the screen which she was holding between her face and the fire. Her intelligent eyes rested for a moment on the speaker's face, then she transferred her attention to Brenda, who stood near the mantelpiece with her two gloved hands resting on the marble. The girl was gazing down between her extended arms into the fire, and a warm glow nestled rosily round her face. The eyes were too sad for their years.
'I am very sorry to hear it,' said the widow with conviction.
'There was no alternative. I could not stand it any longer.'
'How did you manage it?' asked Mrs. Wylie quietly, almost too quietly.
'Oh, I got rid of some jewellery, and there was a Captain Markynter who was kind enough to get my ticket and see me off!'
A peculiar silence followed this cool remark. Mrs. Wylie sat quite still, holding the palm screen before her face. Brenda stood motionless as a statue. Mrs. Huston curved her white wrist, and looked compassionately at a small red mark made by the button of her glove. At length the uneasy pause was broken. Without moving, Brenda spoke in a cool, clear voice, almost monotonous.
'Alice,' she explained, 'is a great advocate for masculine assistance. She considers us totally incapable of managing our own affairs, and powerless to act for ourselves. She has been regretting all day that Theo should be away, and consequently beyond our call.'