“At last,” he said. “And now for revenge.”
She entered the room, looking rather pale, but calm and commanding as ever.
“So you have come back,” she said.
“Yes. Have you heard the news? Your flame, George Caresfoot, is dead.”
“I knew that he was dead. How did he die?”
“Who told you he was dead?”
“No one, I knew it; I told him he would die last night, and I felt him die this morning. Did she kill him or did Arthur Heigham?”
“Neither, that bulldog flew at him and he fell into the lake.”
“Oh, I suppose Angela set it on. I told him that she would win. You remember the picture falling in the study at Isleworth. It has been a true omen, you see.”
“Angela is mad. The story is all over the country and travelling like wild-fire. The letter you forged has been found. Heigham was down here this morning and has gone again, and you, Lady Bellamy, are a disgraced and ruined woman.”