Mrs. Wylie stood for some moments in her comfortable, placid way, rubbing one smooth hand over the other. She did not appear to be looking anywhere in particular, but in reality no movement of Brenda's, however slight, escaped her notice.
'And now,' she said, after a weary little sigh, 'I suppose she will discover how much she loved him all along...'
Trist made a little movement, but the widow turned her calm gaze towards him, and spoke on, with a certain emphasis:
'Alice has in reality always loved Alfred Huston. This little misunderstanding would never have arisen had there not been love on both sides. I have known it all along. You can trust an old woman on such matters. This is a very, very sad ending to it all.'
'Yes,' assented Theo meekly; 'it is very sad.'
Brenda had turned away. She was standing at the window in her favourite attitude there—with her arms outstretched, her fingers resting on the broad window-sill among the ornamental fern-baskets and flower-pots.
Mrs. Wylie walked to the fireplace.
'Let me think,' she said, half to herself, 'what must be done.'
She knew that Trist was watching her, waiting for his instructions in his emotionless, almost indifferent, way. (If it were not for a certain moral laziness in the male temperament, women would be able to do very little with men.) Then the widow met his gaze. She made a scarcely-perceptible movement towards the door with her eyelids. With a slight nod he signified his comprehension of the signal.
'I must,' he said, 'go back now to ... to Huston's rooms. Will you communicate with Alice?'