"I don't know. Not present."
"Anyway, there isn't the slightest reason why he should want to kill Wally," said Mary, with a sigh.
Vicky came out of the drawing-room just then, with a large box of chocolates, which she offered both to Mary and Hugh. When they declined this form of refreshment, she perched herself on the back of the sofa, with her feet on the cushioned seat, and laid the box across her knees. "Poor darling Ermyntrude is a bit exhausted," she remarked, selecting a truffle from the box. "Myself, I thought the scene was too long for her, and much too heavy."
"Need you talk as though we were taking part in theatricals?" snapped Mary.
"Yes, because we're bound to be, with Ermyntrude and me in the thick of it. We simply can't help it, darling. Particularly Ermyntrude, because she always wanted to play in heavy tragedy, and no one ever gave her the chance, so you can't blame her for letting herself go now."
"It's so false!" Mary exclaimed. "You know as well as I do that she didn't care tuppence about Wally!"
"No, I do think she had got awfully sick of him," agreed Vicky, choosing another chocolate from the box.
"Very well then, all this pretence of tragedy is in the worst of bad taste!"
"Don't be silly, darling: if she still cared about Wally I don't think she'd do it. I'm not sure, mind you, but I rather believe not. And after all, you can't very well expect her to go all hard-boiled, and let everyone know she doesn't care a bit."
"I don't expect it, but a little reticence, and dignity…"