“They must be deceived as well as he. Listen: start packing in the morning, saying to the servants that you are leaving for England. The news will soon reach him.”
“But he expects me to go with him to-morrow night.”
“You must delay that. Write him a note saying that you are ill and can’t be ready until the night after.”
“And then.”
“In reality, you will slip away to-morrow night by the mail-train for Rhodesia.”
“Rhodesia?” said Loree faintly.
“Yes—to your husband. And never leave him again. Women like you are not safe away from their rightful owners. Beauty is not such a boon as plain women suppose.”
There was pity as well as a certain amount of scorn in Valeria Cork’s voice, but Loree was in no mood to resent either.
“How can I ever explain to him—turning up suddenly like that?” she murmured.
“That is your affair,” said Valeria. “Mine is to get you away. So to bed now, and rest as much as you can. You will need all your wits and nerves. Good-night.”