“Sir John had a telegram yesterday that worried him,” she said. “Do you know what it was about?”
“Honestly I do not know, Lady Maxell,” said the girl. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
“Because he would tell me a lie,” said the woman coolly, and the girl winced.
“He brought all his money and securities from the Dawlish and County Bank to-day and put them in his safe and he had the chief constable with him for half an hour this morning.”
This was news to the girl, and she was interested in spite of herself.
“Now, Mary,” said Lady Maxell, “I’m going to be frank with you—frankness pays sometimes. They called my marriage a romance of the screen. Every newspaper said as much and I suppose that is true. But the most romantic part of the marriage was my estate in Honolulu, my big house in Paris and my bank balance. Ellsberger’s publicity man put all that stuff about, and I’ve an idea that Sir John was highly disappointed when he found he’d married me for myself alone. That’s how it strikes me.”
Here was a marriage which had shocked Society and had upset the smooth current of the girl’s life, placed in an entirely new light.
“Aren’t you very rich?” she asked slowly, and Sadie laughed.
“Rich! There was a tram fare between me and the workhouse the day I married Sir John,” she said. “I don’t blame him for being disappointed. Lots of these cinema stars are worth millions—I wasn’t one of them. I married because I thought I was going to have a good time—lots of money and plenty of travel—and I chose with my eyes shut.”
The girl was silent. For once Sadie Maxell’s complaint had justification. Sir John Maxell was not a spending man. He lived well, but never outside the circle of necessity.