"She may have met someone and gone to the matinee. It's Wednesday."
"She didn't need to do that. I'll take her whenever she wants to go and she knows it."
"I didn't say she had gone—I only said she might have gone. She may be waiting for the trimming of a hat to be changed, or for an appointment with tailor or dressmaker or manicure, or any one of a thousand other things. When you see her, she can doubtless give a clear account of herself."
"Did Rose go with her?" he asked, after a brief pause.
"No, she's asleep," sighed Madame. "Allison, I'm worried about Rose and have been for some time. She isn't well."
"I thought something was wrong," he replied, without interest. "She can't seem to play even the simplest accompaniment any more, and she used to do wonders, even with heavy work."
"I think," ventured Madame, cautiously, "that she needs to get out more. If someone would take her for a walk or a drive every day, it would do her good."
"Probably," assented Allison, with a faraway look in his eyes. "If you want to borrow our horses at any time, Aunt Francesca, when yours are not available, I hope you'll feel free to telephone for them. They're almost eating their heads off and the exercise would do them good."
"Thank you," she answered, shortly. Allison noted the veiled sharpness of her tone and wondered why anyone should take even slight offence at the friendly offer of a coach and pair.
"It must be nearly time for the next train," he resumed. "Is there anyone at the station to meet Isabel?"