“I enjoyed having her here immensely. It's the first time she's been here since she left the Firs. How long is that? Two years? But you know, Grig, the Maldens were quite upset about her. Do you think a divorce is really necessary?”
Gregory Vigil answered: “I'm afraid it is.”
Mrs. Pendyce met her cousin's gaze serenely; if anything, her brows were uplifted more than usual; but, as at the stirring of secret trouble, her fingers began to twine and twist. Before her rose a vision of George and Mrs. Bellew side by side. It was a vague maternal feeling, an instinctive fear. She stilled her fingers, let her eyelids droop, and said:
“Of course, dear Grig, if I can help you in any way— Horace does so dislike anything to do with the papers.”
Gregory Vigil drew in his breath.
“The papers!” he said. “How hateful it is! To think that our civilisation should allow women to be cast to the dogs! Understand, Margery, I'm thinking of her. In this matter I'm not capable of considering anything else.”
Mrs. Pendyce murmured: “Of course, dear Grig, I quite understand.”
“Her position is odious; a woman should not have to live like that, exposed to everyone's foul gossip.”
“But, dear Grig, I don't think she minds; she seemed to me in such excellent spirits.”
Gregory ran his fingers through his hair.