Hartley's round, China-blue eyes fixed upon her.
"Can you tell me when you saw him?"
"One night—evening, I should say—I was out riding and I passed him going towards the wharf, not towards the wharf exactly, but to the houses that lie out by the end of the tram lines."
"What evening? I wish you could remember for me."
"It was the night of my own dinner-party."
"Then that was July the twenty-ninth?"
Mrs. Wilder looked at him, and bit her lip.
"Was it the twenty-ninth?" Hartley repeated the question.
"Probably it was, if you say so. I told you just now that I had Burma head. But where has Absalom gone to?"
Hartley took up his cup again and stirred the spoon round and round.