"Isn't it conceivable—I don't want to frighten you—that in her despair she may have done something rash?"
Mrs. Smithers jerked her head with a movement of utter contempt.
"You men seem to think we're always in despair if we lose one of you precious creatures—most times it's t'other way round. She was glad. It's the first time I've seen her happy for months and months. He's done away with her—and you sit there like a herd of stuck pigs——"
"Really, my good woman——"
"I'm not your good woman. A lot you care. She's one of your blood—worth the whole crowd of you—and you treated her like dirt just because she got into the clutches of one of your—your—wickednesses——"
"Smithy!" Mrs. Compton implored.
"I don't care—it's true."
Armstrong looked helplessly at Mrs. Boucicault; but Mrs. Boucicault was staring in front of her with that same look of tense expectancy. The new arrival from Simla shivered. She did not understand the scene, but she thought it vulgar and horrid. These out-of-the-way stations were very uncivilized. It was amazing how quickly the smartest people lost their polish.
Captain Compton came suddenly to the rescue.
"It's a queer thing," he said, in his deliberate way. "Meredith and Rasaldû and now Miss Fersen——"