Jim’s sombre eyes rested on the discarded paper, but he did not pick it up. “It’s rotten weather,” he said listlessly.
“Have you seen Palla lately?” inquired Estridge, looking down at him with a certain curiosity.
“No, not lately.”
“She’s a very busy girl, I hear.”
“So I hear.”
Estridge seated himself on the arm of a leather chair and began to pull on his gloves. He said:
“I understand Palla is doing Red Cross and canteen work, besides organising her celebrated club;––what is it she calls it?––Combat Club No. 1?”
“I believe so.”
“And you haven’t seen her lately?”