There were moments when Mary saw it too. But she left God out of it and called it Nature's cruelty.
If it was not really Gwenda. For in flashes of extreme lucidity Mary put it down to Rowcliffe's coldness.
And she had come to know that Gwenda was responsible for that.
LVI
But one day in April, in the fourth year of her marriage, Mary sent for Gwenda.
Rowcliffe was out on his rounds. She had thought of that. She was fond of having Gwenda with her in Rowcliffe's absence, when she could talk to her about him in a way that assumed his complete indifference to Gwenda and utter devotion to herself. Gwenda was used to this habit of Mary's and thought nothing of it.
She found her in Rowcliffe's study, the room that she knew better than any other in his house. The window was closed. The panes cut up the colors of the orchard and framed them in small squares.
Mary received her with a gentle voice and a show of tenderness. She said very little. They had tea together, and when Gwenda would have gone Mary kept her.
She still said very little. She seemed to brood over some happy secret.
Presently she spoke. She told her secret.