“I’ll see about getting a good man to manage the case,” went on Kathleen Weir, “and I will write to you, and we must get up the evidence, you know, and have everything on the square. We’ll hoodwink the dear old judge, and I will play the injured wife to such perfection that it will be one of my best parts. I’m glad I came to see you, but you’re not looking well, my friend; you are not as good-looking as you were. Well, never mind, someone, I dare say, will think you good-looking enough, particularly when she sees your grand house; though, by the by, you have not yet asked me into it.”
“My uncle’s widow is there, but—”
“Oh! never mind; I brought a luncheon basket with me from town, as I did not know whether I could depend on your hospitality; and, besides, it might look like collusion if we were caught hobnobbing together. No one knows of my visit here, and no one need know of it. I will go straight back to town by the next train, and will write all particulars to you as soon as I have arranged my case, and, as I said before, I shall depend on your friendly assistance. So now if you will escort me back to the very shaky hired carriage that I picked up at the station, I will take leave of Woodlea Hall—and its new owner.”
Again she laughed and showed her white teeth, and without another word John Temple walked by her side back to the carriage which was waiting for her in the avenue, and when they reached it he handed her in.
“Good-by,” she said, holding his hand for a moment and looking at him smilingly. “Make a better choice the second time; you are a man who should marry a woman who thinks you perfection—I never did!”
Then she nodded, smiled again, and was driven away.
CHAPTER XLI.
A WOMAN’S OFFER.
She returned to town in the highest spirits, and the first thing she did was to write to Ralph Webster.
“Come and dine with me to-morrow night,” she wrote. “I have some wonderful news to tell you. I shall be alone, and we will dine at eight.