"A week or two only—she made that clear."
"And what is his attitude?"
"Ah—that, I conjecture, is just what she means to keep us from knowing!"
"You mean she's afraid——?"
Mr. Langhope gathered his haggard brows in a frown. "She's afraid, of course—mortally—I never saw a woman more afraid. I only wonder she had the courage to face me."
"Ah—that's it! Why did she face you? To extenuate her act—to give you her version, because she feared his might be worse? Do you gather that that was her motive?"
It was Mr. Langhope's turn to hesitate. He furrowed the thick Turkey rug with the point of his ebony stick, pausing once or twice to revolve it gimlet-like in a gap of the pile.
"Not her avowed motive, naturally."
"Well—at least, then, let me have that."
"Her avowed motive? Oh, she'd prepared one, of course—trust her to have a dozen ready! The one she produced was—simply the desire to protect her husband."