Mr. Fothersley agreed. “Most fortunate,” he added.
“You know, Arthur, she is not unattractive,” Lady Condor continued. “By no means in her première jeunesse and can never have been a beauty. But there is something cool and restful-looking about her which some men might like. You never know, do you? I remember once Condor was quite infatuated for a few weeks, with a woman rather in the same style.”
“But I thought you didn’t think——” began Mr. Fothersley.
“Of course I don’t think—not really.” Lady Condor watched Ruth’s farewells through her glasses. “That’s what is so stupid about all these supposed affairs of Roger’s. There never is anything in them. So stupid——” She stopped suddenly and looked sideways at him, rather the look of a child found with a forbidden toy.
“But——” began Mr. Fothersley, and stopped also.
The two old friends looked at each other.
“Arthur,” said Lady Condor. “I believe you are as bad as I am. Yes—don’t deny it. I saw the guilt in your eyes. So funny—just as I discovered my own. But so nice—we can be quite honest with each other.”
“My dear Marion—I don’t——” Mr. Fothersley began to protest.
“Dear Arthur, yes—you do. We both of us enjoy—yes—where are my glasses? What a mercy you did not tread on them. But where was I? Yes. We both of us enjoy these little excitements. Positively”—her shrewd old face lighted up with mischief—“positively I believe we miss it when Roger is not supposed to be carrying on with somebody. I discovered it in a flash just this very moment! I do hope we don’t really hope there is something in it all the time. It would be so dreadful of us.”
“Certainly we do not,” said Mr. Fothersley, deeply pained but associating himself with her from long habit. “Most certainly not! I can assure you my conscience is quite clear. Really, you are allowing your imagination to run away with you. We have always done our best to stop Nita creating these most awkward situations.”