"I've always liked Miss Brabazon," he said stoutly, "why didn't you like her, Bubbles?"
"Because when she arrived here I saw that she was in love with Lionel Varick."
"Don't talk nonsense," said her aunt reprovingly. "You know I don't like that sort of joking."
And as for Bill, he turned and walked towards the door. "I've got some letters to write," he said crossly.
"Don't go away, Bill. It isn't a joke, Blanche—and I'm going really to shock you now—unless, of course, you're only pretending to be shocked?"
"What d'you mean?" said Blanche.
"I think Helen fell in love with Lionel Varick before his wife died."
Bill said sharply: "I won't have you say such disgusting things, Bubbles!" And he did indeed look disgusted.
"What a queer mind you've got," said Bubbles reprovingly. "I mean, of course, in quite a proper way; that is, without the poor girl knowing anything about it. But I thing he knew it right enough."
Blanche remained silent. Bubbles' words were making her feel curiously uneasy. They threw a light on certain things which had puzzled her.