Lady Dashwood had made up her mind. She must have opened all three letters but only read two of them. There was no other explanation possible. What was to be done with Gwen's letter? What was to be done with this—vile scribble?
Lady Dashwood's fingers were aching to tear the letter up, but she refrained. It would need some thinking over. The style of this letter was probably familiar to Gwendolen—her mind had already been corrupted. And to think that Jim might have had Belinda and Co., and all that Belinda and Co. implied, hanging round his neck and dragging him down—till he dropped into his grave from the sheer dead weight of it!
"Yes, immediately," said Lady Dashwood. She would not go downstairs again. It was of vital importance that Jim and May should be alone together, yes, alone together.
Lady Dashwood put the letter away in a drawer and locked it. She must have time to think.
A few minutes later Louise was brushing out her mistress's hair—a mass of grey hair, still luxuriant, that had once been black.
"I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair," said Louise, as she plied vigorously with the brush.
Lady Dashwood made no reply.
"I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair at all, at all," repeated Louise, firmly.
"Is it going greyer?" said Lady Dashwood indifferently, for her mind was working hard on another subject.
"It grows not greyer, but it becomes dead, like the hair of a corpse—in this atmosphere of Oxford," said Louise, even more firmly.