All this, indirectly through Nathalie Verando's walks with the white
cows, in the olive woods of Cap Martin, and more directly through the
tarnishing of a silver frame on an old photograph.
XXII
Eve Dauntrey was in the act of opening the door as the cure of
Roquebrune put out his hand to touch the bell at the Villa Bella Vista.
Somehow it was a shock to find herself face to face with a priest, on
her own doorstep; and before she could quite control her nerves, she
broke out with a brusque, "What do you want?"
The cure looked calmly at her, his pleasant, sunburned face betraying
none of the surprise he felt at such a reception. In his modest way he
was a quick and keen observer, though he had never deliberately prided
himself on being a judge of character. It seemed to him that the
handsome, hard-eyed woman with the white face and scarlet lips was
startled at the sight of his black cassock, as if she had done something
which she would not like to have a priest find out.
This made him spring to the conclusion that she had been brought up as a
Catholic, but was one no longer.
"I have called upon a lady who, I am told, is staying here," he
explained politely in French. "Miss Grant."
"Miss Grant?" Eve could not help showing that she was puzzled and not
pleased. "Yes, Miss Grant is visiting me," she admitted. Then, with a
sudden impulse which she could hardly have explained, quickly added:
"Unfortunately she's out. Is there any message you would like to leave?"
As she asked this question, Lady Dauntrey stared with almost
ostentatious frankness straight into the cure's face, and her voice had
lost its sharpness.
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