"Was your father a musician?" Isobel went on.
"No," answered Beryl. "Why?"
"Oh, no reason. I only wondered. What was his profession, then?"
Beryl gazed at her in silence, and Isobel thought perhaps she did not understand.
"His work, I mean. What did he do for a living? Or had he independent means?"
"He—I don't know what he did—he went to the City every day," Beryl ended lamely; her face was ghastly white. "It's so long ago—I can't remember—I was only very young when he died."
This seemed to satisfy Isobel for a time, and she began talking of her brother Gerald and his taste in hosiery, until presently she began to inquire about the aunt with whom Beryl said she lived at Enfield. But on this subject Beryl was decidedly reticent, and answered vaguely, and as often as possible in monosyllables, so that Isobel could gain little or nothing from her questionings. All she gleaned was that Beryl's 'Aunt Laura' lived at Enfield, and that she was a widow, with one daughter about eighteen years old, whose name was also 'Laura.'
Presently the conversation veered round to schools again, and Isobel asked,
"By the way, what was the name of your school at Enfield?"
Beryl hesitated but a moment, then said, "Rotherington House School."