"Some day in danger—" he said, as if to himself.
VI.
Cary was drumming idly on the piano. Her attitude was the personification of listlessness. When the Captain had spoken of it that morning she said it was "the spring feeling in the air."
The Captain smiled as he walked down the stairs of the lodgings.
"It's London climate—fog and rain—in the winter; and it's London sunshine in the spring!"
Cary continued to drum on the piano after he left. Then she let her hands fall from the keys and looked absently about the room. She supposed Trevelyan would drop in later or anyhow in the evening. Trevelyan had been irreproachable since her return—since that day in Scotland.
Presently she dashed into a popular song and sung it with a touch of the old gleeful enthusiasm she had left behind in France. Trevelyan loathed that song.
She broke off suddenly and twirled around on her stool. Someone was knocking.
"Come in," she shouted, not rising, and thinking it was either Robert or John.
The landlady entered bearing a card. Cary held out her hand for it.