They told Ada with a wonderful tenderness, watching her the while as cats watch mice, and Ada did not disappoint them. She cast no doubt on Miss Entwistle’s story; she did not tell her that she knew Sam was in London at the time because she had had letters from him. Though she had nothing in the world but her marriage, she made no effort to protect its reputation. She exhibited herself to them in all the fury of her jealous rage, so that naturally, seeing her instant belief in what they told her, the ladies formed their own conclusion.
“It is not the first time,” is what the eyes of Mrs. Grandage said, and the eyes of the spinster looked back at her sepulchrally and said, “It never is.”
Ada was married. She had the title of wife, and unfaithfulness on her part was as far removed from her imagination as from her opportunity. She was married to Sam; she was the woman in possession, with the title-deeds in her desk and the seal upon her finger, and this was flagrant outrage. It struck at the roots of her complacency, and complacency was life. Yet she hadn’t the wits to confound these iconoclasts with one little uninventive lie. It needed only that to abash Miss Entwistle—men’s faces are often alike, she knew perfectly well that he was in London: anything would have done, anything would have been better than this abject, immediate betrayal of her citadel. She struck her flag without firing a shot, and lapsed into a slough of inarticulate anger.
“What shall I do? What shall I do?” she wailed as soon as she was able to speak coherently.
“That,” said Miss Entwistle, “that, you poor dear, is your business.”
She had announced the glad tidings, she had found a titillating pleasure in watching Ada’s reception of them and now she was eager to be off, to spread the news, to be the first that ever burst into her friends’ drawing-rooms with word of a glorious scandal. She pleaded another call and escaped to her orgy.
“I’ll make him pay for this,” said Ada viciously.
“My dear,” advised Mrs. Grandage, who had a husband of her own, “I hope you will be tactful.”
“Tactful:” blazed Ada. “Tactful, when—oh! oh!” She screamed her sense of Sam’s enormity.
“Yes, but you know, men will be men.”