Penelope laughed a little, and a faint flush stole up into her cheeks.
"I'm not unobservant, remember," she returned, lightly, her eyes avoiding Kitty's. "And my observations have led me to the conclusion that love and common-sense are distinctly antipathic."
"Well, Nan seems quite happy and cheerful again, anyway," retorted Kitty. "And if she'd fallen in love with Peter, knowing that there was a very much alive Mrs. Peter in the background, she would hardly be feeling particularly cheery."
"Oh, I don't think Nan's fallen in love—yet. And as to her present joyful mood, that's easily accounted for by the doubled income Lord St. John is allowing her—I never knew anyone extract quite so much satisfaction as Nan from the actual spending of money. Besides, although she doesn't realise it, Peter has made himself rather indispensable to her."
Kitty spoke with nervous sharpness:
"But you don't think she cares for him?"
The other reflected a moment before replying. Finally she said:
"If she does, it is quite unconsciously. Consciously, I feel almost sure that Maryon Rooke still occupies her thoughts."
"I wonder where she finds the great attraction in him?" queried Kitty thoughtfully.
"Simply this: That he was the first and, go far, the only man who has ever appealed to her at all. And as he has treated her rather badly, he's succeeded in fixing himself in her mind."