IV
Clare Harrington had left Millstead. One breakfast time a letter came from her with the Paris postmark. Out of the envelope tumbled a number of small snapshots; Speed scanned the letter through and remarked, summing up its contents roughly for Helen’s benefit: “Oh, Clare’s in France. Been having rather a good time, I should imagine—touring about, you know.”
Helen looked up suddenly.
“I didn’t know she wrote to you,” she said.
Speed answered, casually: “She doesn’t, as a rule. But she knows I’m interested in architecture—I expect that’s why she sent me all these snaps. There’s one here of...” he picked them up and glanced through them... “of Chartres Cathedral... the belfry at Bruges... some street in Rouen.... They’re rather good—have a look at them!”
She examined them at first suspiciously, then with critical intensity. And finally she handed them back to him without remark.