Then suddenly Miss Angela had said something that had, I thought, explained matters. Archie's father, whose illness Miss Angela had asked about on the evening of the birthday-party, had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and Archie had been summoned to Guildford the day before.
"Well, we must hope for the best," Miss Angela had concluded. "There's no need to begin moping yet, child——"
Miss Angela also had jumped at my own explanation of Evie's moodiness—that now that Archie was in trouble his misdoings were forgotten.
I was to learn my error half-an-hour later, when Evie and her aunt rose to depart.
I, of course, had intended to leave with them; but as I held the door open for them to pass out Kitty said: "You stay for a few minutes, Jeff; I've something to tell you.... Good-bye, Evie dear. I do hope your cold will soon be well, Miss Soames——"
And she waved her hand to them as they passed down the stairs.
I swore under my breath, but there was no help for it. I followed Kitty back into her sitting-room. She crossed to the fireplace and sank into a canvas deck-chair with her back to the sewing-machine. I remained standing, with my hat in my hand, at the other corner of the mantelpiece.
She had allowed her head to fall back against the sagging canvas, and had closed her eyes.
"Sit down," she said, without opening her eyes, and, wondering what was wrong, I reached for her bedroom chair and sat down.
"What's the matter?" I asked, a little alarmed already, though I knew not why. I wondered if anything had been discovered about myself. There were, as you know, plenty of such things to discover.