“No, not yet. You remember I wrote to you that she would stay on for a few days.”
“But she might have gone unexpectedly.”
“She is still here.”
“I believe I shall have to see her,” Rosamund said, with a sort of hard abruptness and determination.
“Go to see her,” said Father Robertson firmly. “Perhaps she was sent here.”
“Sent here?” said Rosamund, with a sharpness of sudden suspicion.
“Oh, my child,”—he put his hand on her arm, and made her sit down,—“not by a human being.”
Rosamund looked down and was silent.
“Before you go, if you are going,” Father Robertson continued, sitting down by the deal table on which he wrote his letters, “I must do what I ought to have done long ago; I must speak to you about your husband.”
Rosamund did not look up, but he saw her frown, and he saw a movement of her lips; they trembled and then set together in a hard line.