“Yes. No. I’d like to. I’ve had no lunch.” Claire faltered nervously, whereupon Janet turned to her maid, who was standing near, dressing-bag in hand, and gave a few quick instructions.
“Get a taxi, Ross, and take all the things home. The car can wait for me. I’ll follow later.”
The maid disappeared, and the two girls made their way across the open space. Both looked nervous and ill at ease, both dreaded the coming tête-à-tête, yet felt that it was a thing to be faced. Janet led the way to a table in the farthest corner of the room, and they talked trivialities until the ordered dishes were set on the table, and the waiter had taken his departure. Claire had ordered coffee, and drank eagerly, hoping that the physical refreshment would help to steady her nerves. Janet played with her knife and fork, and said, without looking up—
“You have left the Fanshawes, then! I heard that you were staying on.”
“Yes. Yesterday I—came back.”
The very lameness of the answer made it significant. Janet’s freckled face turned noticeably pale.
“Erskine went straight home after he left Scotland?”
“Yes.”
“And before he arrived, you had promised to stay on?”
“Mrs Fanshawe asked me, before he came, if I could stay for another week, and I was very glad to accept. I had no other engagement.”