“Just the sort to whom her type might appeal, in fact. So I should imagine it was quite possible as far as he was concerned too, eh?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised.”
Roger smote the turf with an enthusiastic fist. “By Jove, Margaret, I believe you’ve hit on something here. Mrs. Russell was simply eaten up with jealousy, of course. And there’s no motive like jealousy!”
“Aren’t we getting on a little too fast?” asked the girl dubiously.
“Not a bit! Now tell me—what sort of a woman is this Mrs. Russell?”
“Oh, she’s rather fat too; very downright and decided. A lot of people would call her rude, but I rather liked her. Not at all good-looking now, though she may have been once. Pince-nez, hair going a little grey, about forty-five years old, I suppose.”
“In other words, exactly the sort of woman to be furiously jealous of a young and pretty one throwing sheep’s eyes at her husband!” Roger summed up, not without satisfaction.
“I say!” Anthony exclaimed excitedly. “You said she was big, didn’t you? Has she got rather large feet?”
“Yes, I fancy she has. Why?”
The two men exchanged significant glances. Then Roger sprang to his feet.