Mary met his gaze steadily. On his side he tried to look, and feel, the part of one who is no more than a casual friend—but, despite his effort at this detached rôle, he could not help guessing at just what was going on behind that calm face.
“You’ve got a thought on your chest,” remarked Jack. “Better cough it up.”
“I am merely feeling a bit surprised at seeing you back again.”
“Surprised? Why?”
“I imagined you’d stay away for a while.”
“I’ve had enough of the St. Helena life—and so has Mary. New York’s the only place!”
“Where are you going to live?”
“Right here at the Grantham. That is, till we like something better.”
“Then you are registered here?” pursued Clifford.
“Not I. Mary is, since she’s been living here. I was just going to have my things sent over from the Biltmore, and then register with the special hotel pen, which has two ink drops that flow as one.”