The consul, too, was a little nonplussed by the sensation caused by his words.
“I fear,” he said, “that I have blurted out the fact rather unguardedly. The Dykes are friends of yours?”
“No, no, not in that sense. Sir Charles I have known for many years. But are you sure his wife is dead?”
“My authority is an announcement in the Times to hand by to-day’s post. I should not have mentioned it were not her ladyship so well known in society, and the affair is peculiar, to say the least.”
“Peculiar—how?”
In his all-absorbing interest in the consul’s statement, Mensmore paid no heed to the curious looks directed at him; he had become very pale, and was more excited in manner than the circumstances appeared to warrant.
“In this sense: The paper is the issue of January 28, yet the notice says that Lady Dyke died on November 6. This is odd, is it not? A woman of her position could hardly have quitted life so quietly that no one would trouble to publish the fact until nearly three months after the event.”
“It is extraordinary—inexplicable!”
“Did you know Lady Dyke personally, Bertie?” put in Phyllis timorously.
The question restored Mensmore to some sense of his surroundings.