He waited benevolently.
“There’s something else—a case I’ve always wanted to put to you....”
“Dear Mrs. Clephane—do put it now.” He was waving her back into her armchair; but she stood before him, unconscious of the gesture.
“It’s about a friend of mine—”
“Yes: a friend? Do sit down.”
She sat down, still unaware of her movements or his.
“A most unhappy woman.... I told her I would ask ... ask what could be done.... She had an idea that you could tell her....”
He bowed expectantly.
Her parched lips brought out: “Of course it’s confidential,” and his gesture replied that communications, in that room, were always held to be so. “Whatever I can do—” he added.
“Yes. My friend thought—her position is really desperate.” She stopped, her voice failing her; then the words came forth in panting jerks. “She was most unhappily married ... things went against her—everything did. She tried ... tried her best.... Then she met him ... it was too difficult.... He was her lover; only for a short time. After that her life was perfectly ... was all it should be. She never saw him—oh, for years. Now her daughter wants to marry him....”