“I’d like to stay if you don’t mind,” said Grace sincerely. “There are one or two things I didn’t write you. My new companion in the flat is quite anxious to stay on there. I suggested that you’d be undoubtedly willing to sublet.”
“Gladly.”
“Are you still with your sister?”
“Yes—I’m going to the country with her tomorrow.”
“It’s your vacation, I suppose?”
It was very hard to dissemble before those calm, disillusioning, serious eyes of Grace.
“A kind of vacation,” said Horatia, a little heavily.
A strange look came over Grace’s face—a look of anger, the look which a mother has when her child is ill-treated.
“You’ve been suffering.” Without any ado of conscious readjustments they passed from an attitude of armed neutrality to a disarmed, a benevolent neutrality.
“Yes.”