"I beg miladi's pardon," Pauline broke in, "but I do not think that is so."
"C'est bien possible," Lady Attwill replied to the maid. And then, looking at Peggy, "I am sure I can't imagine Mr. Collingwood doing such a thing. I am the last person to make mischief."
She rose as she spoke and walked towards the door. "Come along, Peggy," she said; "you must get your things off—you've had such a horrible day."
Peggy looked at her wildly. She hardly seemed to hear what she was saying.
"No—no—let me think—I must think!" she cried, and there was a rising note of hysteria in her voice.
"Well," Lady Attwill said calmly, "I must get out of my things, at anyrate." Then she spoke with something which sounded like affection in her voice.
"Peggy," she said, "you really must lie down and rest—I shall be down in a few minutes."
With a bright smile she took her parasol and left the room.
Then Peggy let herself go.
"Oh! How cruel it is!" she cried, raging up and down the drawing-room. "They have taken all the joy out of my life! I feel as if they had burnt the damning letter in scarlet upon my breast—branded by law, divorce-court law! Oh, the ignominy, the shame of it all—the shame! It is barbarous! To hold a woman up and torture her before a pruriently minded crowd whether she is guilty or not! Am I guilty because I can't prove that I am innocent?"