She eat her dinner, cried a little now and then between whiles, and at half-past ten went down to the drawing-room in her most attractive frock, and with her light fluffy hair piled as high as she could pile it, and sparkling with those dainty paste stars which Eve had sported at the memorable hunt ball.
“Sophy,” cried Vansittart, “I vow you look almost as pretty as Eve looked that night in the snow. And what do I see? Surely I know those quivering starlets! You are wearing the family diamonds.”
Sophy rewarded him with a most ungracious scowl, and moved to the other side of the room. Vansittart was looking at an evening paper, and was serenely unconscious of the change in his sister-in-law’s manner; but Eve saw that angry glance and movement of avoidance, and wondered what could have caused such rudeness. Temper, perhaps; only poor Sophy’s petulant temper, which had never been discriminating in its outbursts.
This was Sophy’s way of keeping a secret. Her visit to Charles Street ended two days later. She was studiously uncivil to her host up to the hour of her departure; and in her farewell talk with her sister, being closely questioned by Eve as to the reason of this change in her manner, she prevaricated, hesitated, said things and unsaid them; and finally, in a flood of compassionate tears, she protested that it was only on Eve’s account she was angry with Eve’s husband. Mr. Sefton had told her that Vansittart still visited that odious woman. Mr. Sefton had met him leaving her house only a few days previously; and Mr. Sefton had assured her that it was he, Eve’s husband, who had brought Signora Vivanti to London, and paid for her musical education.
“Can you wonder that I am angry with him, Eve, loving you as I do? You have been so good to me, so generous. It would be wicked of me to go away without warning you. I hated the idea of telling you. I have thought over it again and again. I promised Mr. Sefton that I would tell you nothing; but I could not bear the idea of your being hoodwinked by an unfaithful husband. It was right to tell you, wasn’t it, dear? It is better for you to know the truth, is it not?”
“Yes, yes, it is better for me to know,” Eve answered, in a hard, cold voice.
“How quietly she takes it!” thought Sophy, as the footman announced the carriage.
Benson had gone on with Sophy’s luggage in a four-wheel cab; twice as much luggage as Sophy had brought from Fernhurst.
“I shall never forget your kindness to me,” said Sophy, with her parting kiss.
“And I shall never forget your visit,” answered Eve.