“You seem surprised to see me,” she remarked—observant as usual, and sensitive to other people’s attitude to her.
“Why, naturally,” I said. And then, recollecting that it was not in the least natural—since she spent a good deal of her time in such places—I added, “I was looking for someone else.”
“May I do in the meantime?” she inquired, taking a seat beside me. “What are you so busy about?”
“My child-labour work,” I answered. Then, in an instant, I was sorry for the words, thinking she must have read about Sylvia’s activities. I did not want her to know that I had met Sylvia, for it would mean a flood of questions, which I did not want to answer—nor yet to refuse to answer.
But my fear was needless. “I’ve been out of town,” she said.
“Whereabouts?” I asked, making conversation.
“A little trip to Bermuda.”
My mind was busy with the problem of getting rid of her. It would be intolerable to have Sylvia come up to us; it was intolerable to know that they were in sight of each other.
Even as the thought came to me, however, I saw Claire start. “Look!” she exclaimed.
“What is it?”