"That was rather clever of them," she remarked. "Never to have mentioned me!"
"Are you being quite just?" He spoke gently and kissed her.
"No, dear," she said, and burst into tears. "How can I be just when they're trying to take you from me?"
"Neither they nor anybody else can do that."
And then—for a space again—she believed her lover and forgot the rest.
But on the Monday morning there came two mauve envelopes. Winnie was down first as it chanced—and this time she looked at the postmarks. Both bore the imprint, "W.C.," clearly indicative of Bloomsbury. Winnie smiled, and proffered to herself an excuse for her detective investigation.
"You see, I thought one of them might be from Cicely Gaynor. I'm quite sure she uses mauve envelopes too."
The world of propriety seemed to be draping itself in mauve—not, after all, a very cheerful colour.
Godfrey came in, glanced at the two mauve envelopes, glanced across at Winnie, and put the envelopes in his pocket. After a silence, he remarked that the bacon was very good.