"Surely that is my own business, Mrs. Travis. I was in poor health, and my husband was too busy to accompany me."
"That is the simple truth, from your point of view?"
"How have you done me the honour to understand me?"
Mrs. Travis examined her; then put another question.
"Have you seen your husband since you arrived?"
"No, I have not."
"And you don't know that he is being talked about everywhere—not exactly for his moral qualities?"
Cecily was mute. Thereupon Mrs. Travis opened the little sealskin-bag that lay on her lap, and took out a newspaper. She held it to Cecily, pointing to a certain report. It was a long account of lively proceedings at a police-court. Cecily read. When she had come to the end, her eyes remained on the paper. She did not move until Mrs. Travis put out a hand and touched hers; then she drew back, as in repugnance.
"You had heard nothing of this?"
Cecily did not reply. Thereupon Mrs. Travis again opened her little bag, and took out a cabinet photograph. It represented a young woman in tights, her arms folded, one foot across the other; the face was vulgarly piquant, and wore a smile which made eloquent declaration of its price.