It warned her that this man saw she was not what she seemed to be, that he was trying to peer into her secret.

His brown eyes were kind enough, but alarmingly keen.

With only half her pie eaten, she excused herself and hastened to her room.
At the threshold she remembered the pocketbook Spenser had given her.

She had left it by the fishing bag on the table.

There was the bag but not the pocketbook.