Mrs. Devereux was certainly moved. She was almost prepared to admit a genuinely exceptional case. But she had a question to ask. Did Ingram intend to marry her—now?
At this Chevenix stepped back, as if to avoid a blow. “Ah!” he said. “Ah! That's it. Ask me another.”
“Do you mean to say of your friend, and mine,” she pursued him, “that he would dare—after all that you tell me—to—-”
“No,” said Chevenix, in a desperate stew; “no, I don't mean that. I think he would have her this moment—if he could get her. But—the fact is—Well, you know—” and he glanced anxiously at the lady, “I've nothing to go upon, absolutely nothing as yet; but the fact is, I'm not sure whether she would take him, you know—now.”
“Is that possible?” was all the lady could find to say, with a throw-up of the hands. “Is that possible?”
“Quite—with Sanchia,” said Chevenix. “Through with him, you know—got to the bottom of him—sick of him. I believe he bores her, you know.” Mrs. Devereux looked at him, more in sorrow than in anger, and then walked slowly away. Most eloquent comment.
VI
Whatever may have been the net result upon Mrs. Devereux's mind of the explanatory revelations made upon the river bank, two things became clear as day succeeded day. One was that Miss Percival avoided her, the other that she sought out Miss Percival. Being entirely unable to succeed, she did not renounce her now benevolent attitude towards the young lady, but she decided to leave Wanless.