She broke off suddenly, and added in a voice of puzzled questioning:
“Zoë, you never liked Colonel Grey!”
Mrs Lawless leant back in a chair, her chin tilted slightly upward, gazing into the remote blueness of the sky. The flicker of a smile shone in the dark eyes, but the gravity of her features remained otherwise unchanged.
“That isn’t quite a correct statement,” she said. “As I told you before, it is Colonel Grey who doesn’t like me.”
Mrs Smythe regarded her doubtfully.
“I thought you were joking when you said that,” she replied. “If you really believe it, I think you are mistaken. He has often spoken of you, and it seemed to me that he greatly admires you. It is a strange thing to say in face of what has happened, but I always felt he was a man to be trusted.”
“You can’t be certain,” replied Zoë, “that your first impression of him is wrong. Quarrels between men—even violent quarrels—don’t necessarily make them rogues. I feel the same about him. I think he is an eminently trustworthy person.”
“But,” objected Mrs Smythe, “there is this affair with Karl... Karl always disliked him—he was rude to him once in this house. He made me angry, I remember, poor fellow!”
She sighed and again dabbed at her eyes with her ruined pocket-handkerchief.
“We’ve been more like brother and sister than cousins,” she explained apologetically. “He has confided his troubles to me since he was a boy, and now in this great trouble I can’t even help.”