“I want a talk with you, Madame.”
The quick lift of her clear brown eyes told him that she had long expected such words.
“I have to ask you something first: That young doctor—what’s his name? Is there anything between him and Annette?”
Her whole personality had become, as it were, like jet—clear-cut, black, hard, shining.
“Annette is young,” she said; “so is monsieur le docteur. Between young people things move quickly; but Annette is a good daughter. Ah! what a jewel of a nature!”
The least little smile twisted Soames’ lips.
“Nothing definite, then?”
“But definite—no, indeed! The young man is veree nice, but—what would you? There is no money at present.”
She raised her willow-patterned tea-cup; Soames did the same. Their eyes met.
“I am a married man,” he said, “living apart from my wife for many years. I am seeking to divorce her.”