Cecily was smoking. She broke off the ash of her cigarette against the window-sill before she replied.
“Yes,” she said. “I was in hell then.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m out of it.”
Rose paused a moment. There was no mistaking the quiet thankfulness of the tone.
“And Robert?” she ventured.
“I know nothing about Robert—or rather, to be strictly truthful, I didn’t till last night.” She laughed a little. “And then I made a discovery.”
“Yes?”
“I find that Robert is, or pretends to be, jealous of Dick Mayne.”
Almost imperceptibly, Rose started.