June glanced at the card and nodded briskly.
“Yes, it’s the same. I don’t know her frightfully well; she’s rather reserved, too; but I admire her immensely––well, go on.”
“She wants me to go to her as a sort of companion––she has offered me fifty pounds a year.”
June whistled.
“Not bad, is it? But you’ll refuse, of course?”
“I asked her to let me think it over; I said I should like to talk it over with you first.”
June clasped her hands round her knees and stared into the fire thoughtfully.
“She’s a widow, isn’t she?” Esther said hesitatingly. “At least––she didn’t say anything about a husband.”
“Yes, she’s a widow right enough,” June said. “And delighted to be, I should think,” she added bluntly. “I never knew the departed spouse, but from all accounts he was a perfect terror.”
Esther said nothing. Raymond had always spoken of his father as being a “rare old sport.”