Victor had turned from the window, and was brushing his hair at the time. As he heard what Godfrey said, the brush fell from his hand upon the floor. As he picked it up and continued his toilet, he said in surprise:
“Teresina in London? Surely you must have been mistaken. I thought she was still in Naples?”
“She is in London,” Godfrey repeated. “I could not have been mistaken, for I spoke to her.”
“At what time did you see her?”
“Just about midnight,” his friend replied.
“Are you aware that the signora is dead and that Teresina is married?”
“How should I be likely to?” said Victor. “You know that I have not seen her since I bade her good-bye in your studio before we went abroad. And so the pretty model is married? Well, I suppose the proper thing to say is that one hopes that she will be happy.”
“But she is not happy, far from it. Her husband as well as her mother is dead.”
“I believe there are some wives who would consider that fact to be not altogether a matter for sorrow. But what makes you think that Teresina is unhappy?”
“Because she told me so, though she would not tell me anything further. The poor girl seemed in terrible distress.”