The silence was broken by Mrs. Romayne; she pushed the tea-table further from her and leaned back in her chair, as she said casually:
“Did you and Julian meet at the club last night?”
Loring followed her example and took an easier and more careless pose.
“Yes!” he said. “We had an hour’s talk together. I was very glad I had looked in. I hardly expected to find him there!”
Mrs. Romayne laughed, and the sound was rather forced. “Oh,” she said lightly, “he is a tremendous clubbist! All young men go through the phase, don’t you think?” She paused a moment, and her voice sounded as though her breath was coming rather quickly as she said carelessly:
“You find him a good deal altered, I dare say? Six months”—she paused; her breath was troublesome—“six months makes such a difference at his time of life!” she finished.
Loring looked at her. He had long ago decided that when a woman was “made up” it was of very little use to direct observation to anything but her eyes.
“Yes!” he said reflectively, as though debating a question already existing in his mind, and answering it for the first time. “He is altered! I suppose—yes, I suppose six months must make a difference!”
A sharp breath as at a sudden stab of pain had parted Mrs. Romayne’s lips at his first words, and he saw a hard, defiant brightness come into her eyes.
“I was very glad to see—well, may one allude to what one could not help seeing yesterday?” he went on in another and much lighter tone.