“Where have you been this morning?” she asked in the same ominously calm voice.
“I have been to Honham Castle on a matter of business.”
“Oh, and yesterday you were there on a matter of pleasure. Now did you happen to see Ida in the course of your business?”
“Yes,” he answered, looking her full in the face, “I did see her, what about it?”
“By appointment, I suppose.”
“No, not by appointment. Have you done your catechism?”
“Yes—and now I am going to preach a homily on it. I see through you perfectly, Edward. You are getting tired of me, and you want to be rid of me. I tell you plainly that you are not going the right way to work about it. No woman, especially if she be in my—unfortunate position, can tamely bear to see herself discarded for another. Certainly I cannot—and I caution you—I caution you to be careful, because when I think of such a thing I am not quite myself,” and suddenly, without the slightest warning (for her face had been hard and cold as stone), she burst into a flood of tears.
Now Edward Cossey was naturally somewhat moved at this sight. Of course he did his best to console her, though with no great results, for she was still sobbing bitterly when suddenly there came a knock at the door. Mrs. Quest turned her face towards the wall and pretended to be reading a letter, and he tried to look as unconcerned as possible.
“A telegram for you, sir,” said the girl with a sharp glance at her mistress. “The telegraph boy brought it on here, when he heard that you were not at home, because he said he would be sure to find you here—and please, sir, he hopes that you will give him sixpence for bringing it round, as he thought it might be important.”
Edward felt in his pocket and gave the girl a shilling, telling her to say that there was no answer. As soon as she had gone, he opened the telegram. It was from his sister in London, and ran as follows: