She ignored this, too, a furrow of perplexity deepening between her brows.
“It isn’t possible that Lady Rideover or Evelyn, without telling you in words, should have allowed you to suspect—”
“Not any more than they allowed me to suspect that I was being nursed by a houri out of paradise.”
She hastened to make a correction. “Oh, I never acted as nurse to you! It was that Miss Farley.”
“But you were at Taplow when I was there, and in and out of my room.”
The peculiar light in her eyes, partly of amazement, partly of incredulity, reminded me of a poor trapped lady I had once seen in the prisoner’s dock while a witness recounted the secrets of her life with remarkable exactness of detail.
“But you couldn’t see me!” she began, helplessly.
“No, but I could hear.”
“And you didn’t hear me. If I went into your room, which I didn’t often do—”
I launched a theory that was purely inspiration.