Irene’s face changed. “I don’t know,” she said; “you should ask her .”

“Does she write to you?”

“No.”

“How’s that?” said James. “I thought you and she were such great friends.”

Irene turned on him. “Again,” she said, “you should ask her !”

“Well,” flustered James, frightened by her look, “it’s very odd that I can’t get a plain answer to a plain question, but there it is.”

He sat ruminating over his rebuff, and burst out at last: