There was a ring of truth in her voice, and, indeed, Mr Cheviott would have found it hard to doubt the truth of anything that voice of hers said.
“There is no bravado in that statement,” he said to himself. “I cannot understand it.”
“And what were you laughing at when I came in?” he said, turning to Alys, as if to change the subject.
Alys looked at Mary.
“Mary,” she said, mischievously, “shall I tell?”
“If you like,” said Mary, quietly.
“Oh, Mary, was just giving me her opinion of us—of you and me, Laurence—the result of her observations during the last ten days,” said Alys.
Mary looked up quickly.
“Alys,” was all she said; but Alys understood her. Mr Cheviott was listening attentively.
“Well,” Alys went on, “perhaps that is not putting it quite fairly. I must confess, Laurence, I forced the opinion out of her, and it took a good deal of forcing, too.”