“A monogram?”
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
“Nobody’s.”
She swept her train across her little feet and laughed at him.
“Are you learning to be inquisitive?” she inquired.
South did not say. He lifted the kettle from its crutch, and set the cafetière in action.
Rosamond screwed her chair round to the table, and spread her arms upon it, resting her cheek on one of them to watch his proceedings.
“Why do you want to know?” she asked, presently.
The bubbles in the dim glass tubes ran to and fro half a minute before he replied.