'She writes—not from France: from . . .? you tempt me to guess.'
'She writes to tell me, that Mr. Dartrey Fenellan has helped her in a way to make her eternally thankful.'
'The place she writes from is . . . ?'
The drag of his lips betrayed his enlightenment insisted on doubting.
He demanded assurance.
'It matters in no degree,' she said.
Dudley 'thought himself excusable for inquiring.'
She bowed gently.
The stings and scorpions and degrading itches of this nest of wealthy
Bohemians enraged him.
'Are you—I beg to ask—are you still:—I can hardly think it—Nesta!— I surely have a claim to advise:—it cannot be with your mother's consent:—in communication, in correspondence with . . . ?'
Again she bowed her head; saying: 'It is true.'