"My stars!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "Where? What was she doing? I thought—"
"She called on me in Bath—reminded me of that summer, and wished to sell me some shares in a paper called British Society, of which I'd never—"
Nina leaned suddenly forward and clutched his arm. "Wait!" she cried. "Wait!" She was winking and thinking very fast. She remembered reading of Mr. Ramsay's trial and sentence, and she remembered British Society and its story about the Veynols.
She recalled, too, the identity of Christian names—Mrs. Ramsay's was Sibylla, and so was Mrs. Veynol's. And they were both Americans.
"She isn't Mrs. Ramsay now?" she questioned.
"No. She's Mrs. Miles O'Connor. She said—"
But Nina wouldn't hear what she said just then. She was too busy adjusting her mind to what it all meant. So it was Jane Ramsay that, as Rosamond Veynol, had married Caryll Carleigh! And it was Sibylla Ramsay that had made all the trouble. It didn't seem possible.
"Her husband was an editor on British Society," Nina suggested. "I thought Sibylla had more ambition. And you say she—"
"He isn't her husband any more. She has been to the States and secured another divorce. It seems she bought the paper after she married him, put him in sole charge, and he gathered in all the income and spent it on Gaiety girls. She advised me to take the journal over, and with its aid secure for myself a baronetcy."
But Nina was still thinking. All she could say was: "Sibylla Ramsay—Sibylla Veynol! Poor Caryll's dreadful mother-in-law!" Then abruptly she asked: "Did she mention her daughter? You remember Jane."