Suddenly Millie stopped.
“Katie, dear, who’s this man?”
“What man?”
“The nice-looking man I saw downstairs.”
“Oh, he’s a Mr. Mark. Son of a great friend of father’s. He’s lived in Russia—Moscow—for years. He came in by mistake one night in a fog and found that ours was the house he was coming to next day—then Father asked him to stay—”
“Do you like him?”
“Yes. He’s very nice.”
“He looks nice.”
Milly went on again with her reminiscences. Katherine, saying only a word now and then, listened.
Then, exactly as though she had caught some unexpected sound, Milly broke off again.