“Harry Garlett has absolutely refused to see Jean Bower—I mean since his arrest. Some people say it’s nearly broken her heart. She’s so pale and thin you’d hardly believe her to be the pretty girl of a few weeks ago.”
The other drew a long breath. “So he won’t see her? Then he can’t have really cared for her.”
She waited a moment, and then added in an odd tone, “He is a very cold man.”
Miss Prince was surprised, “I shouldn’t call him that——”
Agatha Cheale turned round and looked straight into the older woman’s face. “He is what foreigners call ‘A Jaseph,’” she exclaimed.
Miss Prince shrank back, almost as if she had been struck.
“My dear Agatha—what a horrid expression!”
“It’s a true expression,” answered Agatha Cheale. “We’ll never speak of this again, and I don’t want you to have a worse impression of me than you must. But I cared for Harry Garlett, and I did my utmost—my utmost—to make him care for me. I failed. Let’s leave it at that!”
“Did Emily suspect that you liked him?”
“Good God, no!”