He raised his shaggy brows.
"Like her? Well—I hardly know. She's good company."
Good company—the very thing that Marie had dreaded to hear.
"I'm not very fond of sporting women," Feathers went on. "They're so restless. Don't you agree, Miss Chester?"
"They were certainly unheard of when I was a girl," she answered severely. "We never wore short skirts and played strenuous games. I think croquet was the fashion when I was Marie's age! I can remember playing in a private tournament with your mother, Marie."
Marie bent and kissed her, laughing.
"That is where I get my stay-at-home, early Victorian instincts from, perhaps," she said rather bitterly.
She went into the hall with Feathers when he left.
"It was so kind of you to send me that white heather," she told him, shyly. "I always wear a piece of it for luck."
A dull flush deepened the bronze of his ugly face.