“Well, I don’t know of any person more capable than a—a—Mr. Thorpe’s wife!” replied Rutley in a most nonchalant and matter-of-fact manner.
And even through the depth of the gloom that surrounded them he saw the scarlet flush of rage and shame flame across Thorpe’s white brow as he bowed his head, humbled to the dust.
For a moment not a word was spoken by either of the men. Suddenly Thorpe looked up and hoarsely said:
“My wife! Give me two or three, one which she can substantiate.”
“My dear Thorpe,” deprecatingly pleaded Rutley. “You have called upon me to undertake a very unpleasant task.”
“Your Lordship has gone too far to recede. I must know all”—and there was imminent danger in Thorpe’s quivering voice, which Rutley felt was not to be trifled with.
“Well—one thing—Corway’s close and steady attention to her during your absence in China.”
“You mean to Hazel?” said Thorpe, with a look so deeply concentrated that the movement of a single hair of Rutley’s eyelash would have meant an instant blow on the mouth.
“No, I mean—to your wife,” accentuated Rutley. “Their secret and protracted wanderings offended your sister. Reproofs, reproaches and warnings were unavailing and ended in Corway being refused admittance to your house, which resulted in frequent quarrels between your wife and your sister.”
Thorpe here recalled Virginia’s warning, “Corway will bear watching,” and he moaned, “Oh, God!”