“Who's that mad?” queried Mrs. Dennant from behind the urn—“Tom Crocker? Ah, yes! I knew his mother; she was a Springer.”
“Did he do it in the week?” said Thea, appearing in the window with a kitten.
“I don't know,” Shelton was obliged to answer.
Thea shook back her hair.
“I call it awfully slack of you not to have found out,” she said.
Antonia frowned.
“You were very sweet to that young foreigner, Dick,” she murmured with a smile at Shelton. “I wish that we could see him.”
But Shelton shook his head.
“It seems to me,” he muttered, “that I did about as little for him as I could.”
Again her face grew thoughtful, as though his words had chilled her.