She almost dragged him off—with unnecessary vehemence, it seemed to me. I could not make her out. “An odd little woman,” I thought. “I hope, for Greatrex’s sake, she’s not given to nerves or hysterics, or that sort of thing.”
But they were back in two minutes, Greatrex quite smiling and content, though he has owned to me since that his knee was scalded, all the same.
No more was said on the subject of reminiscences. Indeed, it seemed to me that Bessie rather avoided it, and a new idea struck me—perhaps Greatrex was given to frightful jealousy, though he hid it so well, and his wife had got him off into the conservatory to smooth him down. Yes, his manner was queer. Poor little woman! I forgave her her hair.
We strolled off to the stables, then to have a smoke, and thus idled away the time till the dressing-bell rang.
“We’re very punctual people,” said Greatrex, as he showed me to my room.
So I made haste, and found myself entering the drawing-room some few minutes before the hands of my watch had reached the dinner-hour.
“She is punctual,” I thought, as I caught sight of a white-robed figure standing with its back to me, full in the light of a suspended lamp, whose rays caught the gleam of her radiant hair. “Not—not very wise to be down before him, if he has the uncomfortable peculiarity that I suspect. By Jove! how much taller she looks in evening dress! Strange that it should make such a difference!”
“So your husband is the laggard, in spite of his boasted punctuality, Mrs Greatrex?” I began.
She turned towards me.
“I am not Mrs Greatrex,” she said, while she raised her soft brown eyes to my face, and a little colour stole into her cheeks.