Herbert stood with his back to the fire, and sniffed strenuously. “I can’t smell anything.”
“It’s your fancy, dear,” said Mrs. Heywood.
“It’s the smell of burned paper,” said Clare quite positively.
“Do you think so?” said her mother-in-law.
“Burned paper?” said Herbert.
Clare became suspicious. She leaned forward in her chair and stared into the fireplace.
“What are all those ashes in the grate?” she said.
“Oh, yes,” said Herbert, as though he had suddenly remembered. “Of course I have been burning some papers.”
“What papers?” asked Clare.
“Oh, old things,” said Herbert rather hurriedly. “Well, I had better be off. Goodnight, mother.”