Lady Susan glanced keenly at her once or twice as they were rowed across the bay to the now deserted quay, but she refrained from making any comment on the girl’s appearance of fatigue. It was only as they were walking up the tarred planking of the jetty together, somewhat behind the rest of the party, that she asked with a queer mixtures of tenderness and humour:
“May I guess, Ann?”
“There’s—nothing—to guess,” said Ann bluntly.
Lady Susan came to a standstill and stood looking down at her with eyes that laughed.
“So you’ve turned him down?” she queried.
Ann nodded silently.
“Well”—incisively—“it will do him a whole heap of good. He’s much too inclined to think the entire world is his for the taking.”
Involuntarily Ann laughed outright at the palpable truth of the statement, and with that spontaneous laughter was borne away much of the hurt pride and resentment which had been galling her. It was, after all, absurd to take an irresponsible being like Brett Forrester too seriously.
“I don’t altogether envy Brett’s wife,” pursued Lady Susan judicially. “Still, she’d never find life monotonous, whatever else. He’d probably beat her and drag her round by the hair when he was in a rage. But he’d know how to play the lover, my dear—don’t make any mistake about that!”
“I may be old-fashioned,” said Ann demurely. “But I don’t think I feel particularly attracted by the prospect of being beaten and dragged around by the hair.”