"Well, she was shocked, of course. She sat up in bed, staring at me, and then leaned back on the pillows again. I pretended not to notice it—but I was sorry I'd said anything about it."
"She didn't say anything?"
"Not a word."
"Didn't you know that, before the strike, she was Ditmar's private stenographer?"
"No!" Augusta Maturin exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"It never occurred to me to tell you," Insall replied.
"That must have something to do with it!" said Mrs. Maturin.
Insall got up and walked to the end of the terrace, gazing at a bluebird on the edge of the lawn.
"Well, not necessarily," he said, after a while. "Did you ever find out anything about her family?"
"Oh, yes, I met the father once, he's been out two or three times, on Sunday, and came over here to thank me for what I'd done. The mother doesn't come—she has some trouble, I don't know exactly what. Brooks, I wish you could see the father, he's so typically unique—if one may use the expression. A gatekeeper at the Chippering Mills!"