“Yes,” but she still looked troubled.
“I shall get away by the 10.15 to-morrow morning.”
“Where are you going?”
“Oh—to Torquay. I’ve wired to a hotel. Ramsden is doing eye-work down there, you know. He will soon put me right.”
Betty stood with her hands resting on the back of his chair. His assurances had not wholly satisfied her. She had a vague feeling that he was keeping something back.
“Parker.”
“Yes, dear.”
He appeared busy dashing down professional hieroglyphics on the paper before him.
“You are not keeping anything from me?”
“Anything from you!”