Desire was furious. And helpless. She remembered now that when he
had entered the room he had certainly seen her bending over a
photograph. No wonder her statement that she did not know whose
photograph it was seemed uniquely absurd. There was only one
adequate explanation. And that explanation she wouldn't and couldn't
make.

"Very well then," she said loftily. "I shall not explain."

He did not look at her. He had not looked at her since handing her
back John's picture. But he had himself well in hand now. Desire
wondered if she had imagined that greyish pallor, that sudden look
of a man struck down. What possible reason had there been for such
an effect anyway? Desire could see none.

"I came to tell you/' he said in his ordinary voice, "that the long
distance call came from Miss Davis. If it is convenient for you and
Aunt, she plans to come along on the evening train. Her cold is
quite better."

"The evening train, tonight?"

"Yes." He smiled. "She is a sudden person. Gone today and here
tomorrow. But you will like her. And you will adore her clothes."

"Are they the very latest?"

"Later than that. Mary always buys yesterday what most women buy
tomorrow."