Lady Fitz Rewes glanced piteously at the three men and wrung her hands.
“Don't you see,” she exclaimed, “don't you see that if there is the least doubt of Mr. Parflete's death, we ought to go to them. Some one must follow them.”
“There is that touch of the absurd about it,” said Reckage, “which makes it difficult for a friend to come forward. To pursue a man on his wedding journey——“
“It is no laughing matter,” put in Lord Garrow; “and if the woman has deceived the poor fellow, it's a monstrous crime.”
“Oh, she hasn't; she couldn't deceive him,” said Pensée. “I know her intimately.”
“She was considered very clever—at Madrid,” said Sir Piers, finely. “To you she may appear more to be pitied than she really is.”
“Don't say such things! I won't hear them. I love her very much.”
“Perhaps she is clever enough to appear stupid in public.”
“No, no!” Her voice trembled and tears gushed from her eyes. “You will regret these words. This news will kill her.”
“Something must be done,” said Sara. “Beauclerk, you ought to follow them and tell them. Pensée is right.”