She opened her mouth and shut it again, and then said simply, “No.”
Wolfe heaved another sigh. He leaned back in his chair and made a movement to clasp his hands on his front middle, then remembered that it was too soon after lunch and let them drop on the arms of his chair. With half-shut eyes he sat comfortable, motionless.
At length he murmured at her, “How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-one in May.”
“Indeed. What day in May?”
“The seventh.”
“I understand that you call Mr. McNair ‘Uncle Boyd.’ Your cousin told me that. Is he your uncle?”
“Why, no. Of course not. I just call him that.”
“Have you known him a long while?”
“All my life. He is an old friend of my mother’s.”