“Even my portrait?” Sophia asked.
“Oh, I didn’t give him that. After the exhibition I gave it Bette to keep for us. It’s in her parlor.”
“Poor Bette,” Sophia teased.
“Listen—” Eden raised her hand a little and read aloud, “‘I have sold the house in Kent. Perhaps my grandfather is turning in his grave, but so be it. Bette prefers Provence and I have bought something there instead. It is very quiet and we don’t know anyone in the neighborhood, but it is ideal for our work. I believe you and Sophia will like it.’”
“I knew it,” Sophia said. “She got so many letters when she was here in the summer—nearly all from Bette, I think.” She smiled.
“I suppose, but the house in Kent…” Eden frowned.
Sophia had taken the rest of the mail from the tray, and was sorting it. She laid it all aside but one long, narrow envelope. That she put in her lap, keeping one hand on it as she reached for her tea with the other.
“The house in Kent?” Sophia said, putting down her cup.
“It has been in her family for so long, is all,” Eden finished. She took up the rest of the mail and stood. “I’m going to go look at a studio near the park this morning. It’s time I gave you back the dayroom.”
Sophia didn’t need the dayroom. But she let Eden go. And when Eden was safely away, she opened her own letter with no small anxiety.