Mrs Lawless smiled faintly.
“It’s not so bad as that,” she answered. “I’m a creature of moods. Had you called yesterday you would have found me quite cheerful.”
“Then I’m glad that my visit has fitted in with the heavier mood. Cheerfulness needs no distraction. Change your gown, Zoë, and come out with me.”
Mrs Lawless shook her head in response to her friend’s inquiring look. Her fingers were playing absently with one of the heavy tassels of a sofa cushion, twisting and pulling at it, and entwining themselves with the silky strands. She looked down at the tassel pensively, and at the busy fingers fidgeting with it continually as though their purposeless occupation held an interest for her.
“Thank you for suggesting it,” she said slowly. “I would have been glad to go; but I am expecting Mr Lawless.”
Mrs Smythe stared at her. Amazement bereft her of her customary tact.
“Expecting him! ... this afternoon?... Why, my dear, I passed him driving with—”
She came to an abrupt halt, and gazed at her quiet companion with dismayed and apologetic eyes.
“His mistress,” Zoë finished for her, looking up. “You needn’t mind saying it... I have accustomed myself to the idea. He may not come this afternoon, of course... But—I think I prefer to stay at home.”
Mrs Smythe was silent for a while.