“You mean I took refuge with Mrs. Glendower? Yes, she was kind—and useful. She is an old friend—more of the family than mine. She is coming to stay at Flood in August.”
“Indeed?” The tone was as cool as his own. There was a moment’s pause. Then Falloden turned another face upon her.
“Lady Constance!—I have something rather serious and painful to tell you—and I am glad of this opportunity to tell you before you hear it from any one else. There was a row in college last night, or rather this morning, after the ball, and Otto Radowitz was hurt.”
The colour rushed into Connie’s face. She stopped. All around them the park stretched, grey and empty. There was no one in sight on the path where they had met.
“But not seriously,” she breathed.
“His hand was hurt in the scuffle!”
Constance gave a cry.
“His hand!”
“Yes. I knew you’d feel that. It was a horrible shame—and a pure accident. But you’d better know the whole truth. It was a rag, and I was in it. But, of course, nobody had the smallest intention of hurting Radowitz.”
“No—only of persecuting and humiliating him!” cried Constance, her eyes filling with tears. “His hand!—oh, how horrible! If it were really injured, if it hindered his music—if it stopped it—it would just kill him!”