Cairn noted that the girl spoke of Ferrara with an odd sort of restraint for which he was at a loss to account. Myra had always regarded her guardian's adopted son in the light of a brother; therefore her present attitude was all the more singular.
"You did not expect him to return to England so soon?" he asked.
"I had no idea that he was in England," said Myra, "until he walked in here one day. I was glad to see him—then."
"And should you not be glad to see him now?" inquired Cairn eagerly.
Myra, her head lowered, deliberately pressed out a crease in her white skirt.
"One day, last week," she replied slowly, "he—came here, and—acted strangely—"
"In what way?" jerked Cairn.
"He pointed out to me that actually we—he and I—were in no way related."
"Well?"
"You know how I have always liked Antony? I have always thought of him as my brother."