She returned no answer. After another pause, during which he stayed frowning and jerking at the lash of his riding whip, he said, “This occurred last night, you say? It was in London, no doubt?”
“No, sir, it was here, at Wisborough Green.”
“Then he came here yesterday!”
“So I believe,” she concurred. His eyes wandered round the hall, as though in search of inspiration. He brought them back to her face and said with a forced smile, “Pardon! I am so much shocked! But you, madame? I do not perfectly understand—?”
She had foreseen this question, and now answered it as coolly as she might. “I am Mrs. Cheviot, sir.”
A look of the blankest amazement came into his face. He stood staring at her and could only repeat, “Mrs. Cheviot!”
“Yes,” said Elinor stonily. “But—you would say my friend’s wife?”
“His widow, sir.”
“Good God!”
“I dare say this news comes as a surprise to you, sir,” she said, “but it is true. My—my husband’s friends are of course welcome to his house, but you will readily understand, I am persuaded, that at this late hour, and under such circumstances, I am unable to extend to you that hospitality which—which—”