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“Why, he’s reconsidered his proposal,” he said quietly, his smile communicating itself to the rest of his face. “I guess he’s sounded the market and feels he wants to treat you right. Maybe he didn’t just remember the exact position of that swell corner block when he made his offer to you yesterday. He knows about it now,” he went on drily, “and fancies handing you eight thousand dollars for complete reversion. I kind of think that’s a square deal, Mrs. Carver. Here’s his ‘brief’ to that effect and the cash, in dollars, is enclosed. You’ll just need to sign the deed I’ll hand you as a preliminary, and the transfer can go through next time you’re along in town. Do you feel like closing?”

There was much more in the man’s simply spoken statement than he realised. There was much more, too, in his manner, and somehow the unexpectedness of Booker’s change of attitude held Claire silent while she regarded the smiling face of the man who brought the pleasant news.

Rebecca Carver’s interest, however, had fallen back before the mother grief which had only been deposed from its supremacy for a few moments. She made no attempt to reply in any form, while her gaze was turned once more to her stove.