“She’s right enough,” he replied, with the slightest possible accent of impatience, which did not altogether displease his companion.
“There’s really less risk of catching cold in caves in winter than in summer, when it’s hot outside.”
Then he relapsed into silence.
After a minute or two Florence spoke again.
“Rex,” she began, half timidly, “I didn’t like to ask you before—indeed, I’ve hardly seen you to-day, but, at breakfast, I saw when you got your letters. Was there anything new, anything worse?”
Major Winchester sighed.
“You’re very quick, Florry dear,” he said. “Yes. There wasn’t anything exactly new, but worse—yes, it was all worse. That was partly why I went out with Paddy. I wanted to battle off my—misery.” He gave a short laugh. “No, that is a womanish word; my disappointment, let us say. And that was how I came to pick up the Wentworths, you see. I had to call at the station.”
“But what is the disappointment—specially, I mean,” Florence asked.
“Only that there is no chance of her, of Eva’s coming home,” he said. “The doctors won’t hear of it. She is to go straight to Algiers from Ireland. And last week, when I left her, there did seem a lightening in the clouds. They won’t even allow her to pass through London on her way.”
“And everything—what you told me about—it is all put off again indefinitely?”