"That trash!" Grant's sharp cry expressed incredulity. "The man can't have any sense! He's going to be sorry all the time if he gets her."
Then he knocked out his pipe, as if he were too indignant to smoke, and went into the house.
CHAPTER XXXII
A REVELATION
It was a winter evening and Sylvia was standing near the hearth in Mrs. Kettering's hall, where the lamps were burning, though a little pale daylight still filtered through the drizzle outside. Sylvia was fond of warmth and brightness, but she was alone except for Ethel West, who sat writing at a table in a recess, although her hostess had other guests, including a few men who were out shooting. After a while Ethel looked up.
"Have you or Herbert heard anything from George during the last few weeks?" she asked.
Sylvia turned languidly. Her thoughts had been fixed on Captain Bland, whom she was expecting every moment. Indeed, she was anxious to get rid of Ethel before he came in.
"No," she said with indifference. "I think his last letter came a month ago. It was optimistic."
"They seem to have had a good harvest from what Edgar wrote; he hinted that he might make a trip across."
"It's rather an expensive journey."