"So you are going to Mrs. Ascott," she repeated. And, still thoughtful: "I am so fond of Alida Ascott.... She is very pretty, isn't she?"
"Very," he said absently.
"Don't you think so?"—warmly.
"I never met her but once."
She was considering him, the knuckle of one forefinger resting against her chin in an almost childish attitude of thoughtful perplexity.
"How long are you to remain there, Garry?"
"Where?"—coming out of abstraction.
"There—at Mrs. Ascott's?"
"Oh, I don't know—a month, I suppose."
"Not longer?"