“Why, that she was what used to be called a professional beauty, a social ruler, immensely distinguished and smart and all that sort of thing. But I understood that she suddenly gave it all up. I remember someone telling me that she abdicated, and that those who knew her best were most surprised about it.”
“A woman told you that, no doubt.”
“Yes, I think it was a woman.”
“Anything else?”
“If I remember rightly, she said that Lady Sellingworth was the very last woman one had expected to do such a thing, that she was one of the old guard, whose motto is ‘never give up,’ that she went on expecting, and tacitly demanding, the love and admiration which most men only give with sincerity to young women long after she was no more young and had begun to lose her looks. Perhaps it was all lies.”
“No, no. There is something in it.”
He looked meditative.
“It certainly was a sudden business,” he presently added. “I have often thought so. It came about after her return from Paris some ten years ago—that time when her jewels were stolen.”
“Were they?” said Craven.
“Were they!”