She nodded. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. ’ It seems that I was mistaken. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. He did not look at her directly, though she fantasized that she could 141 feel his stares from the back of the class on occasion. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night.
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