She heard her husband’s step along the passage outside. It paused opposite her door, and presently there came a discreet tap, sufficient to be audible to her, so she read his purpose, if she was awake, but not loud enough to disturb her if she was asleep. She hesitated a moment, and then answered. It was but seldom that he came to her room: she imagined he must have something to tell her.
“I’m not disturbing you?” he asked.
“No. I came in only a few minutes ago. Robin and his friend and I had supper after the theatre.”
“A pleasant evening?” he asked.
“Very. Was there anything particular you wanted to speak to me about?”
“Yes. There have been some rather unpleasant rumours about for a day or two, and in case you haven’t heard them, I made up my mind that I had better tell you.”
She bent down to pick up her pearls, and as she rose again, she noticed with a strange sense of detachment, that they chinked and chattered together in her hand, and knew that it was trembling. Into her mind there started the image of Kuhlmann and herself standing together, and of Robin looking from the one to the other.
“Concerning me?” she said quietly.
He laughed.
“No, of course not,” he said. “Do you suppose that I should have heard rumours for a day or two concerning you, and not either taken the proper steps to stop them, or have told you?”