“She is the wife of a man who had the reputation of being very wealthy,” she replied. “She has no money of her own, I am sure.”
“She still lives with her husband, I suppose?” Tavernake asked.
Beatrice closed her eyes.
“I know very little about her,” she declared. “Last time I heard, he had disappeared, gone away, or something of the sort.”
“And she has no money,” Tavernake persisted, “except what she gets from him? No settlement, even, or anything of that sort?”
“Nothing at all,” Beatrice answered.
“This is very bad news,” Tavernake remarked, thinking gloomily of his wasted day. “It will be a great disappointment to Mr. Dowling. Why, her motor-car was magnificent, and she talked as though money were no object at all. I suppose you are quite sure of what you are saying?”
Beatrice shrugged her shoulders.
“I ought to know,” she answered, grimly, “for she is my sister.”
Tavernake remained quite motionless for a minute, without speech; it was his way of showing surprise. When he was sure that he had grasped the import of her words, he spoke again.