"I simply don't see," she repeated.
Suddenly she sprang up, and advancing to Margaret laid an inspired hand on her arm. "But, my dear woman, you can help us out all the same; you can help us to find out who it is—and you will, won't you? Because, as it's not you, you can't in the least mind what I've been saying—"
Margaret, freeing her arm from her visitor's hold, drew back a step; but Lady Caroline instantly rejoined her.
"Of course, I can see that if it had been, you might have been annoyed: I dare say I put the case stupidly—but I'm so bewildered by this new development—by his using you all this time as a pretext—that I really don't know where to turn for light on the mystery—"
She had Margaret in her imperious grasp again, but the latter broke from her with a more resolute gesture.
"I'm afraid I have no light to give you," she began; but once more Lady Caroline caught her up.
"Oh, but do please understand me! I condemn Guy most strongly for using your name—when we all know you'd been so amazingly kind to him! I haven't a word to say in his defence—but of course the important thing now is: who is the woman, since you're not?"
The question rang out loudly, as if all the pale puritan corners of the room flung it back with a shudder at the speaker. In the silence that ensued Margaret felt the blood ebbing back to her heart; then she said, in a distinct and level voice: "I know nothing of the history of Mr. Dawnish."
Lady Caroline gave a stare and a gasp. Her distracted hand groped for her boa and she began to wind it mechanically about her long neck.
"It would really be an enormous help to us—and to poor Gwendolen Matcher," she persisted pleadingly. "And you'd be doing Guy himself a good turn."