Graham stiffened almost imperceptibly.
“Thanks, I will.” But his tone was distant.
“You know she comes out this winter.”
“Really?”
“And—you were great friends. I think she misses you a little.”
“I wish I thought so!”
Gentle Mrs. Haverford glanced up at him quickly.
“You know she doesn't approve of me.”
“Why, Graham!”
“Well, ask her,” he said. And there was a real bitterness under the lightness of his tone. “I'll come, of course, Mrs. Haverford. Thank you for asking me. I haven't a lot of time. I'm a sort of clerk down at the mill, you know.”