Yet she had only spoken of the room being cold- and of walking in the wood. Now why had she done that? The wood was her secret place, the only place where she could think her own thoughts and be alone. She did not know why she had spoken of it to Craig Lester, or why it should have angered him. Her thoughts showed in her face-doubt-a shade of timidity just touched by surprise. And then she was saying,

“You wanted to talk about Jenny. You said she wrote to you?”

The dark look vanished. Laughter sparkled in his eyes. She liked the way they crinkled at the corners.

“She sent us some of her work.”

“Oh-” The soft sound breathed dismay.

“She wrote-a very precise and grown-up letter. She didn’t say how old she was-after all, one doesn’t in a business letter. It was rather on the lines of, ‘Miss Jenny Maxwell presents her compliments to Messrs. Pethertons and begs to submit the enclosed manuscripts for their consideration’.”

Rosamond’s eyes widened, her lips twitched. She said,

“Oh dear!” And then, “That’s rather the way my aunt writes business letters. She is my great-aunt. She dictates to me. There was one a little while ago about a lease-the last bit sounds as if it had come out of that. She was writing to her solicitor, and she begged to submit it for his consideration.”

He threw back his head and laughed. She said at once in a tone of distress,

“You won’t laugh at Jenny-not when you see her, will you, Mr. Lester? She’s proud and sensitive, and her writing means a tremendous lot to her. It would upset her dreadfully if you were to laugh at it, and it’s bad for her to be upset. You see, she was in a very bad motor smash two years ago. At first they thought she would die, and when she didn’t, they thought she would never be able to walk again.”

He saw the muscles of her face tighten and the moisture come to her lashes. He began to speak, but she put out a hand to stop him.