“It may be,” said his Grace. “But personally I should be grateful if Charlotte would mind her own affairs.”
The tone implied quite definitely that he had no wish to pursue the topic; nay, it even invited Sarah to make an end of their talk and to go away as soon as possible. Clearly he was far from understanding that it was little more than a red herring across the trail of a sinister intention. But the fact was revealed to him by her next remarks.
“Oh, by the way, father,” she said casually, or at least with a lightness of tone that was misleading, “there’s one other matter. I’ve been thinking the situation out.”
“Situation!” groped his Grace.
“That has been created.” Sarah’s tone was almost infantile—“by your insisting that Mrs. Sanderson should stay on.”
“Well, what of it, what of it?”
“It simply makes the whole thing impossible.” Sarah had achieved the voice of the dove. “So long as this woman remains in the house one feels that one cannot stay here.”
“Why not?”
“Because”—Sarah fixed a deliberate eye on the face of her sire—“neither Aunt Charlotte nor I think that the present arrangement is quite seemly.”
II