CHAPTER XXV—-A Wholesale Departure
Having retired to her bedroom and divested herself of the deceitful peignoir, Pauline made her way, with all the precautions of secrecy, downstairs again, and so to the door which gave on the avenue. Carpentaria was not in view when she timorously put her head out of the door, and she was in a mind to rush back to her sister in order to confide in her absolutely, and to demand in return her entire confidence. She allowed herself to suspect for a brief instant that, after all, Carpentaria had not been behaving openly with her; but just then the musician arrived—he had evidently been watching the other side of the house.
“You were right,” she whispered, before he had time to ask a question.
“Your sister denies that she has been out?”
Pauline nodded.
“Does this help us?” she inquired, as it were, bitterly. “Are we any better off, now that I have lied to Rosie, and forced Rosie to lie to me?”
“I think so,” he said.
“I don’t,” Pauline retorted. “And I have passed the most dreadful five minutes of all my life.”
She seemed to be desolated, to be filled with grief.