Disregarding Eva's irreverence, Pamela waved again from the lower terrace, and then they watched her go down the long road until the fluttering pink parasol diminished to the size of a new blown peony.
Astry, who had escorted her to the gate, came back slowly and his wife noticed for the first time that his expression was unusually grave. In the broad sunshine she saw the crow's-feet about his eyes and the streak of gray in his hair; he was not handsome, but distinguished, and he had that indefinable air that is inalienable from a man of his birth and breeding. As he approached, he took a letter out of his pocket and Eva's fascinated eyes, following his movements, discovered that the envelope was small and odiously blue. Her hand tightened its hold on the white pilaster beside the door and she stood quite still, though a thrill of panic shot through her with an almost irresistible impulse of flight. He came up and proffered the letter gravely.
"I think this is yours."
She took it mechanically, coloring again almost as painfully as she had under Pamela's observation.
"Craggs brought it up with my mail this morning, I hope by mistake, but there have been others like it and it seemed worth while to tell you."
"I don't see why you keep that man!"
"My dear Eva, the excellent Craggs is invaluable; he knows how to press my trousers and hold his tongue."
"He creeps about the house like a spy."
Astry turned quickly. "I hope you don't think I employ servants to watch my wife."
She bit her lip, sudden tears in her eyes.