He stepped into the middle of the room and as he approached the light she saw that his brow had cleared.
“Why do you ask?” she said.
“Because when I came in, at about half-past three, the mail was just being distributed, and Mrs. Cope was waiting as usual to pounce on her letters; you know she was always watching for the postman. She was standing so close to me that I couldn’t help seeing a big official-looking envelope that was handed to her. She tore it open, gave one look at the inside, and rushed off upstairs like a whirlwind, with the director shouting after her that she had left all her other letters behind. I don’t believe she ever thought of you again after that paper was put into her hand.”
“Why?”
“Because she was too busy. I was sitting in the window, watching for you, when the five o’clock boat left, and who should go on board, bag and baggage, valet and maid, dressing-bags and poodle, but Mrs. Cope and Trevenna. Just an hour and a half to pack up in! And you should have seen her when they started. She was radiant—shaking hands with everybody—waving her handkerchief from the deck—distributing bows and smiles like an empress. If ever a woman got what she wanted just in the nick of time that woman did. She’ll be Lady Trevenna within a week, I’ll wager.”
“You think she has her divorce?”
“I’m sure of it. And she must have got it just after her talk with you.”
Lydia was silent.
At length she said, with a kind of reluctance, “She was horribly angry when she left me. It wouldn’t have taken long to tell Lady Susan Condit.”
“Lady Susan Condit has not been told.”