"One moment, Mrs. Majendie, please, before you turn me out. I wouldn't break my heart about it, if I were you. He might have done worse things."
"He has done nothing."
"Well—not much. He has done what I've told you. But, after all, what's that?"
"Nothing to you, Lady Cayley, certainly," said Anne, as she rang the bell.
She moved slowly towards the door. Lady Cayley followed to the threshold, and laid her hand delicately on the jamb of the door as Mrs. Majendie opened it. She raised to her set face the tender eyes of a suppliant.
"Mrs. Majendie," said she, "don't be hard on poor Wallie. He's never been hard on you. He might have been." The latch sprang to under her gentle pressure. "Look at it this way. He has kept all his marriage vows—except one. You've broken all yours—except one. None of your friends will tell you that. That's why I tell you. Because I'm not a good woman, and I don't count."
She moved her hand from the door. It opened wide, and Lady Cayley walked serenely out.
She had said her say.