She rang the bell and they waited. She gave him his tea, and while they ate and drank he talked to her about the weather and the land, and about his work and the book he had just finished on Amoebic Dysentery, and about Colin and how well he was now. Neither of them spoke of Jerrold or of Maisie.
When the tea things were cleared away he leaned back and looked at her with his kind, deep-set, attentive eyes. She loved Eliot's eyes, and his queer, clever face that was so like and so unlike his father's, so utterly unlike Jerrold's.
"You needn't tell me why you're going," he said at last. "I've seen
Jerrold."
"Did he tell you?"
"No. You've only got to look at him to see."
"Do you think Maisie sees?"
"I can't tell you. She isn't stupid. She must wonder why you're going like this."
"I told her. I told her I was in love with Jerrold."
"What did she say?"
"Nothing. Only that she was sorry. I told her so that she mightn't think he cared for me. She needn't know that."