He happened to look at Rodolf Pain as he spoke, and the latter answered, pointing towards some trees on the right.
“She went down there with her dogs. I’ll go and find her.”
Mr. Verrall watched him away, and then turned to his wife: speaking, however, impassively still.
“You say he has married Maria Hastings? How came Charlotte to let him slip through her fingers?”
“Because she could not help it, I suppose,” replied Mrs. Verrall, shrugging her pretty shoulders. “I never thought Charlotte had any chance with George Godolphin, Maria Hastings being in the way. Had Charlotte been first in the field, it might have made all the difference. He had fallen in love with Maria Hastings before he ever saw Charlotte.”
Mr. Verrall superciliously drew down his lips at the corners. “Don’t talk about a man’s ‘falling in love,’ Kate. Girls fall in love: men know better. Charlotte has played her cards badly,” he added, with some emphasis.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Verrall. “That Charlotte would play them to the best of her ability, there’s little doubt; but, as I say, she had no chance from the first. I think George did love Maria Hastings. I’m sure they have been together enough, he and Charlotte, and they have flirted enough: but, as to caring for Charlotte, I don’t believe George cared for her any more than he cared for me. They have gone abroad for the winter: will be away six months or more.”
“I am sorry for that,” quietly remarked Mr. Verrall. “I was in hopes to have made some use of Mr. George Godolphin.”
“Use?” cried Mrs. Verrall. “What use?”
“Oh, nothing,” carelessly replied Mr. Verrall. “A little matter of business that I was going to propose to him.”