Sir Robert’s brow clouded.
“She has too much tact,” he said, “to refer to anything so disagreeable.”
“Oh yes, she has tact enough,” retorted his wife with vivacity. “I hate to have to refer to this horrid subject, dear, but I warn you that I mistrust this girl. I think it most mysterious that it should have been impossible to get at her when she was wanted at the inquest, but that she should turn up here in this mysterious fashion ten years later, and worm herself into your confidence in the absence of your wife.”
Sir Robert was still too much under the influence of his wife, on those rare occasions when she took the trouble to fascinate him again, not to be impressed by what she said. Nevertheless his gratitude to Rhoda, modified though it was by shame at his own forgetfulness, was strong enough to make him feel bound to stand up for her.
“I can’t think there is any harm in her,” he said gently. “What is it you mean to suggest?”
Lady Sarah gave a little enigmatic shrug.
“Oh, I don’t suggest anything. Only don’t, like the unsuspicious, kind-hearted old goose you are, trust her with too many of your secrets. That’s all.”
“Secrets! Why, I haven’t any.”
Lady Sarah laughed.
“Well then, don’t encourage her to confide to you too many of hers!” she said, as, at the sound of the dinner gong, she tucked her little hand affectionately within her husband’s arm and led him away to the dining-room.