“Isn’t Helen back yet?” she asked.
Minerva appeared in the doorway, disapproval in every line of her black taffeta gown.
“Miss Abercrombie came in three quarters of an hour ago; she went to her room and it’s likely is resting there, though not having seen her I am not able to say positively,” she replied.
“Oh, well, Minerva, it will never come to a trial for perjury,” observed Miss Carrington. “Ask her if she will not join me?”
Minerva withdrew and shortly there appeared in the same doorway a figure in sharp contrast to Minerva’s. It was Helen’s, tall and lithe, swathed in a pale blue Japanese negligée, heavily embroidered in white and faintest pink. Her golden hair was dishevelled; one hand carried a box of chocolates, the other clutched her robe and a novel.
“Want me?” she asked, and crossed the room as Miss Carrington invited by a gesture to a chair at her side.
Helen took it and piled three down pillows around her, twisting her body into perfect agreement with the pillows.
“How inconsiderate you are not to come without a summons!” Miss Carrington reproached her. “Aren’t stay-at-homes always eager for bulletins from abroad?”
“I thought you’d be napping, or would come into my room if you wanted me,” said Helen. “There isn’t much to report; a perfectly ordinary visit. Of course the most interesting things about it aren’t those that happened.”
“Precisely. And your keen eyes would see them,” agreed Miss Carrington. “First of all, is there the least ground for my suspicion of Kit?”