Lizzie Straker and Joan Gaunt were at supper when Eve walked into their private sitting-room at the “Black Boar.” Eight o’clock had struck, but the window of the room faced west, and the lamp on the table had not been lit.
“You’re pretty late.”
Eve sat down without taking off her hat. She had a feeling that these two had been discussing her just before she had come into the room, and that things which she was not expected to see had been, so to speak, pushed hurriedly under the sofa.
“I’ve had a long ramble, and I’m hungry.”
She found a round of cold beef, and a dish of young lettuces on the table. Her companions had got as far as milk pudding and stewed rhubarb.
“You must have been walking about four solid hours. Did you get lost?”
“No. I used to live down here.”
They stared.
“Oh, did you!”
“You’ve got pretty hot, anyhow.”