Might be dreaming miles and miles apart?
Two out of the Crowd.
Lettice had had no tea, but she did not stay for it; she uprooted herself, setting back her chair without a sound, and flitted inconspicuously out of the exhibition. On her slow way home, in Tube and omnibus, she did some concentrated thinking. She was not surprised when Beatrice rushed up from the basement to inform her that a lady was waiting in her room, a dazzling lady who had arrived in a taxi-cab; she needed not Beatrice's ecstatic description to tell her who that lady was. She had caught Dorothea's eye across the hall. Well, what must be, must; screwing herself up to face a scene, she climbed the stairs.
Her visitor had not sat down; a slight sumptuous figure, she stood posed against the mantelpiece, looking down into the fire. She started at the opening door, and raised her beautiful gazelle-brown eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, Lettice!"
Lettice made no reply. A wave of obstinacy rose to meet that appeal; she came to the table and stood slowly taking off and smoothing out her gloves. Lettice was sometimes possessed of a dumb devil. Dorothea's eyes opened piteously; her lip quivered, the tears tumbled down her cheeks, but in a flash she was across the room, had seized Lettice and turned her round by force.
"I don't care, you can be as angry with me as you like, but you shall listen, you shall answer, if I stay here all night. That woman—what was she doing with Denis?" Lettice was dumb. "Oh, don't you begin about being justly angry and taking righteous vengeance—see what that sort of rubbish has done for me!" Dorothea cried with passion. "I must know about Denis. What has she done to him?"
"I should think you could see that for yourself," said Lettice, opening her lips with extreme and ungracious reluctance.
"Yes; but is she—has she—"
"Ask some of your friends; they'll know all the London gossip."