And then Miss Prince became aware that the younger woman had been crying.
“Look here, Agatha,” she spoke with kindly authority. “It’s time you had a change! You’re badly in need of a holiday. It’s all very well for Harry Garlett—his life’s a perpetual holiday.”
“He’s been working much harder than usual lately,” the other said quickly.
There came a gleam into Miss Prince’s eye.
“I think there may be a reason for that,” she said rather mysteriously.
“Any special reason?” asked Agatha Cheale indifferently.
Miss Prince hesitated. This morning, at early celebration, she had resolved that she would make a real effort to cure herself of what she knew in her heart was her one outstanding fault—to herself she called it, quite rightly, sin—that of retailing malicious tittle-tattle. But somehow she felt strongly tempted to say just one word, and, as so often happens with those cursed with her peculiar temperament, she was half persuaded that in saying what she now determined to say she would be doing the right thing.
“Of course you know that Jean Bower, Mrs. Maclean’s niece, has become secretary to the Etna China Company?”
“No, I didn’t know it.” Agatha Cheale was more surprised than she chose to show.
“How very odd of them not to have told you! I mean, how odd of Harry, and how odd of Dr. Maclean. Why, she’s been at the Etna factory for quite a month.”