“She’s a traitress—a fool.”
“I wonder if I know her name.”
“It’s Canterton—Mrs. James Canterton.”
Eve was leaning her elbows on the table, trying not to show how this news affected her. And suddenly she began to laugh.
Joan Gaunt’s face stiffened.
“What are you laughing at?”
It was wholesome, helpless, exquisite laughter that escaped and bubbled over from a delicious sense of fun. What an ironical comedy. Eve did not realise the complete significance of what she said until she had said it.
“Why, I should have thought she was one of us!”
Her two comrades stared. They were becoming more and more puzzled, by this feminine thing that did not shape as they expected it to shape.
“I don’t see anything to laugh at.”