“Perhaps you had rather not—”
“Yes, I had rather tell you. She said a good many strange things, and I have been uneasy about her. I wished I could speak to some one—”
“How strange that I should feel urged to ask you about this,” said Rhoda, her eyes, peculiarly bright and keen, fixed on the girl’s face. “The poor thing is very miserable, I am sure. Her husband seems to leave her entirely to herself.”
Milly looked surprised.
“Monica made quite the opposite complaint to me. She said that she was a prisoner.”
“That’s very odd. She certainly goes about a good deal and alone.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Milly. “She has very often talked to me about a woman’s right to the same freedom as a man, and I always understood that Mr. Widdowson objected to her going anywhere without him, except just to call here, or at my lodgings.”
“Do you think she has any acquaintance that he dislikes?”
The direct answer was delayed, but it came at length.
“There is some one. She hasn’t told me who it is.”