He had been at the home farm at six in the morning and had dismissed Farmer Verrall before breakfast. Farmer Verrall had looked for his coming about eleven or twelve, and having been up until pretty late the night before, he had not quite succeeded in his endeavour to do himself justice by “sleeping it off”—the phrase was Mrs. Verrall’s—so that Mr. Wingfield had further opportunities for inspection before the man had got on even the most rudimentary clothing.
After the simultaneous discharge of his duty and his manager, Jack Wingfield had eaten a good breakfast and gone off to the tennis ground, where he succeeded in beating two more antagonists in the G.S.s, and had then got knocked out in the first set he played with a partner—a very wild young woman—in the M.D.s. After these excitements he returned to have tea with his mother.
It was after a long pause at the close of that meal that he remarked, so casually as to awaken the suspicions of his mother in a moment:
“Talking of the dairy—” he had been saying a word or two respecting the dairy—“I wonder if you have ever heard of a man named Wadhurst—a great authority on shorthorns—in fact, a great dairyman altogether.”
“Of course I have heard of him, several times,” she replied. “Why, I heard something of him only a few weeks ago—something in a newspaper. Something he had done in America, I think—something brave—not connected with a dairy. What nonsense! I remember now. It was another man—was it his son who tried to save some people on a wreck and got drowned himself?”
“Not exactly his son. The man who did that was a scheming rascal who had inveigled Mr. Wadhurst’s daughter into a marriage with him and got arrested for a swindle on the steps of the church.”
“Of course, that was it. Stupid of me to forget. But really, what between these Frenchwomen poisoning their husbands and Americans getting divorces, it is hard to remember the details of any one particular case. But I only need to be reminded and the whole thing comes back to me.”
“Miss Wadhurst of course returned to her father’s house. She is living there at present. She never had slept a night out of it.”
“The detectives were just in time! How lucky for her! But she is not Miss Wadhurst: she must be Mrs. something or other. The ceremony was gone through with, wasn’t it?”
“I believe it was, but it was only natural—only right—just—that she should revert to her maiden name. She had a right to her maiden name, hadn’t she?”