They moved, tacitly, into the adjoining parlor and stood by the window.
“I thought—” he began.
“What did you think, Peter?” Then, before he could reply, she went on to say: “I've been working through the Middle West. Closed in Cincinnati last week.”
“Had a hard season?”
“Hard—yes.” She glanced down at a large envelope held under her arm. “Mr. Neuerman sent your play. I've just read it—on the train.”
“Oh, you've read it?”
“Yes.” Again that hint of a smile. Peter's eyes wandered about the room. “It's funny,” she murmured.
“What's funny?” said he severely.
“I was thinking of this play.” She took it out of the envelope and rapidly turned the typewritten pages. “So bachelor women are—what you call 'trufflers,' Peter!”
“It is quite impersonal, Grace.”