Delia caught at the chair by which she stood.
“Your husband,” she repeated under her breath; and at sight of her wild white face the other advanced a step.
“Madam—did you speak?”
Delia clenched her hands and turned her head with a quick look of loathing.
“I said naught,” she answered.
Lady Dalrymple considered her; she was interested, sure that beneath her proud containment this girl was in deep distress, and she pitied her.
“Come you on matters of politics?” she asked.
Standing very erect and cold, Delia answered:
“Yes.”
“For Scottish affairs?” said Lady Dalrymple.