“The art of unravelling it is the art of living. But one must hold the master thread.”
“The master thread is work,” said Hugh, forcing his tone to lightness.
“No.”
“What is it, then?”
She did not answer. A little involuntary sigh fluttered her bosom.
“I wish I could put you back into your bright circle, Renie,” he said, putting his own interpretation upon her mood. With Harroway’s words fresh in his memory, his heart grew heavy.
“Yes, I miss my friends,” she replied absently.
The talk dropped a little. She stayed with him while he smoked his cigarette, and then they went into the drawing-room. Hugh drew her chair to the fire, set a footstool for her feet, and placed a cushion behind her head. She thanked him shyly, trying to keep back a rush of thoughts. Gerard had never done such a thing for her in his life. Suddenly tears came into her eyes. Hugh bent over her, in some concern.
“My poor Renie.”
She smiled as she wiped the tears away.