Lady Anstruthers looked nervous.
“Rosy,” in the level voice, “there has been a particular incident—and I would rather hear of it from you than from him.”
Rosy's lap held little shaking hands.
“He has held it over me for years,” she said breathlessly. “He said he would write about it to father and mother. He says he could use it against me as evidence in—in the divorce court. He says that divorce courts in America are for women, but in England they are for men, and—he could defend himself against me.”
The incongruity of the picture of the small, faded creature arraigned in a divorce court on charges of misbehaviour would have made Betty smile if she had been in smiling mood.
“What did he accuse you of?”
“That was the—the unexpected thing,” miserably.
Betty took the unsteady hands firmly in her own.
“Don't be afraid to tell me,” she said. “He knew you so well that he understood what would terrify you the most. I know you so well that I understand how he does it. Did he do this unexpected thing just before you wrote to father for the money?” As she quite suddenly presented the question, Rosy exclaimed aloud.
“How did you know?” she said. “You—you are like a lawyer. How could you know?”