"How are you?" she said. "I was so sorry not to have seen you this morning. I have had a glorious ride."
Lady Frances did not respond to the words with her habitual smile. And, on closer scrutiny, Clodagh observed that, despite a very careful toilet, she looked tired and annoyed.
"You've been away an age," she said irritably. "It's after twelve."
"Then perhaps I'd better change. The coach is to be back from the station at half-past twelve."
"No. Never mind! Diana isn't conventional. You can meet the people—and lunch too—in your habit. I want to talk to you."
Clodagh's eyes opened. It was new to find Lady Frances's manner either hasty or perturbed.
"To me? What about?"
The other hesitated for a moment, then looked straight at her companion.
"About Walter Gore."
The onslaught was so sudden that Clodagh had no time to guard her feelings. She flushed—a deep, painful flush, that spread over her cheeks, her ears, her forehead.