"Chris hasn't got back yet—I am so sorry. He promised to be in at six! I am afraid something has gone wrong with the car."
"It's not very late," Feathers said kindly. "I think I am rather before my time. He is sure to be in directly."
Marie walked over to the window and looked into the street. The September evening was closing in rapidly, with rather depressing greyness.
"I hope nothing has happened to them," she said faintly. She was not at all anxious really, but she felt that she must gain time to recover her composure before she could talk to Feathers.
He watched her across the room with sad eyes. He had not seen her since that day on the golf links, and he took in every detail of her graceful little figure hungrily.
She was wearing a white frock of some gauzy material, cut rather low, and her soft brown hair curled into little ringlets like a child's on the white nape of her neck.
Was she any happier, he wondered? He knew that Chris had been about with her a great deal during the past week, and he hoped with all 231 his heart that things were improving between them. He longed to ask her, but was afraid. He knew that the only safe thing for them was to keep to ordinary topics of conversation.
Marie dropped the curtain presently and came back to him.
"What have you been doing with yourself?"
He shrugged his shoulders.