'Thank you, Miss Morrison. It would, indeed, be a great pity to waste my husband's work on some one who couldn't appreciate it.' She took the roll and stood with her hand upon it, protecting it. 'I'll tell him what you've done.'
'Oh, then, you do know where he is!' said Bella, with a laugh.
'What do you mean?'
'What I say.' The eyes of the two women met across the table. A flash of cruelty showed itself in those of the girl. 'I thought, perhaps, you mightn't—as he's been passing in London for an unmarried man.'
There was a pause—a moment's dead silence.
'That, of course, is a lie!' said Phoebe at last, drawing in her breath—and then, restraining herself, 'or else a silly mistake.'
'It's no mistake at all,' said Bella, with a toss of the head. 'I thought you ought to know, and mother agreed with me. The men are all alike. There's a letter I got the other day from a friend of mine.'
She drew a letter from a stringbag on her wrist, and handed it to
Phoebe.
Phoebe made no motion to take it. She stood rigid, her fierce, still look fixed on her visitor.
'You'd better,' said Bella; 'I declare you'd better. If my husband had been behaving like this, I should want to know the truth—and pay him out.'