'My dear, he can't come. It's most annoying. Only an hour ago I had a telegram—look——'
The despatch was from Coventry: 'Don't expect me. Detained on business. Redgrave.' It rustled in Alma's hand, and she had much ado to keep herself from tears of angry chagrin.
'He had promised to be here,' went on Mrs. Strangeways. 'I thought nothing would have kept him away.'
'Do you mean,' asked Alma bluntly, 'that he knew I was coming?'
'I had said that I half expected you. Don't be vexed, dear. I did so wish you to meet.'
'If he's at Coventry,' Alma continued, 'it must be on that business.'
'It seems likely. Do sit down. You still look anything but yourself. Pray, pray remember that you have only a day or two——'
'Don't worry me, please,' said Alma, with a contemptuous gesture.
She had thrown off reserve, caring only, now the first step was taken, to make all possible use of this woman whom she detested. Her voice showed the change that had been wrought in her; she addressed her hostess almost as though speaking to an inferior.
'What do you think it means, his keeping away?'