“Of course I have. You can’t live on air, you know, and as my father didn’t leave us much else, Robin and I both had to work.”
He regarded her with brooding eyes. She was so gay and cheery about it all that, against his will, his thoughts were driven back amongst old memories, recalling another woman he had known who had chosen to escape from poverty by a different road from the clean, straight one of hard work. She had funked the sharp corners of life, that other, in a way in which this girl with the clear, brown-gold eyes that met the World so squarely would never funk them.
Before he could formulate any answer there came the sound of the house-door opening and closing. He rose hastily from his chair.
“Ah! That must be your brother!” he exclaimed, a note of what sounded almost like relief in his voice. He seemed glad of the distraction, and shook hands cordially with Robin when he came in.
“I’m sorry I was out,” began the latter. But Coventry cut short his apologies.
“Don’t apologise,” he said. “It has given Miss Lovell and myself the opportunity of renewing our acquaintance.”
Robin looked from one to the other in surprise.
“Have you met before, then?” he asked.
Ann explained.
“At Montricheux,” she replied. “Mr. Coventry saved me from a watery grave on the night of the Venetian Fête there.”