She took the chair opposite to that on which he usually sat, and then began her tale. Her cousin, Barrington Erle, had brought her there, and was below, waiting for her in the Governor's house. He had procured an order for her admission that evening, direct from Sir Harry Coldfoot, the Home Secretary,—which, however, as she admitted, had been given under the idea that she and Erle were to see him together. "But I would not let him come with me," she said. "I could not have spoken to you, had he been here;—could I?"
"It would not have been the same, Lady Laura." He had thought much of his mode of addressing her on occasions before this, at Dresden and at Portman Square, and had determined that he would always give her her title. Once or twice he had lacked the courage to be so hard to her. Now as she heard the name the gleam of sunshine passed from her altogether. "We hardly expected that we should ever meet in such a place as this?" he said.
"I cannot understand it. They cannot really think you killed him." He smiled, and shook his head. Then she spoke of her own condition. "You have heard what has happened? You know that I am—a widow?"
"Yes;—I had heard." And then he smiled again. "You will have understood why I could not come to you,—as I should have done but for this little accident."
"He died on the day that they arrested you. Was it not strange that such a double blow should fall together? Oswald, no doubt, told you all."
"He told me of your husband's death."
"But not of his will? Perhaps he has not seen you since he heard it." Lord Chiltern had heard of the will before his last visit to Phineas in Newgate, but had not chosen then to speak of his sister's wealth.
"I have heard nothing of Mr. Kennedy's will."
"It was made immediately after our marriage,—and he never changed it, though he had so much cause of anger against me."
"He has not injured you, then,—as regards money."