Sally had been expecting the question, and answered it with composure.
“I wanted to help Mr. Faucitt.”
“Who's Mr. Faucitt?”
“Hasn't Fillmore ever mentioned him? He was a dear old man at the boarding-house, and his brother died and left him a dressmaking establishment in London. He screamed to me to come and tell him what to do about it. He has sold it now and is quite happy in the country.”
“Well, the trip's done you good,” said Mrs. Fillmore. “You're prettier than ever.”
There was a pause. Already, in these trivial opening exchanges, Sally had sensed a suggestion of unwonted gravity in her companion. She missed that careless whimsicality which had been the chief characteristic of Miss Gladys Winch and seemed to have been cast off by Mrs. Fillmore Nicholas. At their meeting, before she had spoken, Sally had not noticed this, but now it was apparent that something was weighing on her companion. Mrs. Fillmore's honest eyes were troubled.
“What's the bad news?” asked Sally abruptly. She wanted to end the suspense. “Fillmore was telling me over the 'phone that you had some bad news for me.”
Mrs. Fillmore scratched at the carpet for a moment with the end of her parasol without replying. When she spoke it was not in answer to the question.
“Sally, who's this man Carmyle over in England?”
“Oh, did Fillmore tell you about him?”