"Yes?"
"That Cicely pines for his wife. I put it to him in black and white." The words came out on a deep strained breath, and Mrs. Ansell faltered: "Well?"
"Well—he doesn't know where she is himself."
"Doesn't know?"
"They're separated—utterly separated. It's as I told you: he could hardly name her."
Mrs. Ansell had unconsciously ceased her ministrations, letting her hands fall on her knee while she brooded in blank wonder on her companion's face.
"I wonder what reason she could have given him?" she murmured at length.
"For going? He loathes her, I tell you!"
"Yes—but how did she make him?"
He struck his hand violently on the arm of his chair. "Upon my soul, you seem to forget!"