ment of Val Beverley’s pretty fingers amidst the blooms which I found most soothing.
“I passed the Guest House on my return,” I continued. “Do you know Mr. Camber?”
She looked at me in a startled way.
“No,” she replied, “I don’t. Do you?”
“I met him by chance yesterday.”
“Really? I thought he was quite unapproachable; a sort of ogre.”
“On the contrary, he is a man of great charm.”
“Oh,” said Val Beverley, “well, since you have said so, I might as well admit that he has always seemed a charming man to me. I have never spoken to him, but he looks as though he could be very fascinating. Have you met his wife?”
“No. Is she also American?”
My companion shook her head.
“I have no idea,” she replied. “I have seen her several times of course, and she is one of the daintiest creatures imaginable, but I know nothing about her nationality.”
“She is young, then?”
“Very young, I should say. She looks quite a child.”
“The reason of my interest,” I replied, “is that Mr. Camber asked me to call upon him, and I propose to do so later this morning.”
“Really?”
Again I detected the startled expression upon Val Beverley’s face.
“That is rather curious, since you are staying here.”
“Why?”
“Well,” she looked about her nervously, “I don’t know the reason, but the name of Mr. Camber is anathema in Cray’s Folly.”
