“Yes,” said Major Winchester. “She has a kind little heart. She’s a nice child; a great deal of good in her. And isn’t she pretty? Last night she looked really charming. But, Robin, about Angey. I almost think I should go.”
This point was discussed for a moment or two. Then Robin again managed to bring in Imogen’s name. Rex answered carelessly; he was thinking of something else. “Miss Wentworth, did you say? Oh yes, that was her mother. Then, Robin, if you hear anything,”—and so on about arrangements and plans in connection with Mrs Bertrand.
It was no use. Robin could not manage to bring the talk round deftly, as he had hoped. He must plunge in boldly.
“Rex,” he said abruptly, though in a low voice. He glanced round; they were practically alone, for the room was large and the Helmonts and their friends were still making a good deal of noise at the other end. “Rex, does Miss Wentworth know, about you?”
“Know about me!” Major Winchester repeated. “How do you mean?”
“About your—about you and Eva?”
Rex looked a little surprised, but in no way startled or even interested.
“I don’t know, I’m sure,” he said. “Yes, I daresay she does. Everybody who knows either of us knows it. But she’s too young to understand that kind of thing. I don’t think I have ever talked about it to her. It would have seemed so—I don’t know how, exactly—so incongruous. And I have not felt inclined to talk about Eva lately—you can understand.”
“No, of course not,” Robin agreed. “But I think Miss Wentworth is more of a woman than you imagine, Rex. She was very sympathising about Angey.”
“Yes. Well, I may tell her about Eva some day, if you think it would please her to have her sympathy sought. I am going to warn her to-morrow again about Trixie, now this acting is over. But she is such a child, I like to see her enjoying herself; knowledge of troubles comes soon enough. Well, good-night, Robin. I am rather sleepy, I confess. So glad you came over, old fellow.”