"Nita Raseley."
Rachel caught her breath.
"I gather that you and she haven't seen so much of one another lately."
"Oh! I think we have. We never were great friends, you know."
"Did she enjoy her time at Seddon? A clever little thing. I shouldn't drop her, Rachel, if I were you."
"She seemed to enjoy Seddon, grandmamma. I must be going, I'm afraid, with the patient Roddy waiting for me. Shall I tell him to come up?"
The old hand struck the arm of the chair and the rings flashed.
"No, thank you, my dear. If he can't come of his own accord, I'd prefer that he had no prompting. There was a time when it was otherwise."
Rachel got up. Their eyes met again, and their hatred for one another was so settled, so historic, so traditional an affair, that their glance now was almost friendly.
Then Rachel bent down very slowly and kissed her grandmother's cheek. How much, she wondered, did she know of the Nita affair? Nita's spite would, assuredly, have found a happy ground in which to plant its seed. Oh! how she loathed this thick clouded atmosphere, this deceit, this deceit! It seemed that, at every turn since her marriage, she had been dragged into an atmosphere of disguise and subterfuge and double-dealing.