Malling recognized the second voice as Lady Sophia's. A moment, and she was ushered into the room. She was dressed in black, but not in widow's weeds, and wore a veil which she pushed hastily up as she came in almost with a rush. When she saw Malling, for a moment she looked disconcerted.
"Oh, I thought—" she began. She stood still. Chichester said nothing, and did not move. Malling went toward her.
"I was very much grieved," he said, "at the news I heard to-day."
She gave him her hand. He knew his words were conventional. How could they be anything else? But Lady Sophia's manner in giving him her hand was not conventional. She stretched it out without even looking at him. She said nothing. Her eyes were fixed upon Chichester, who stood on the other side of the little room in a rigid attitude, with his eyes cast down, as if he could not bear to see the woman who had just entered.
"I offer you my sympathy," Malling added.
"Sympathy!" said Lady Sophia, with a sharp note in her voice suggestive of intense, almost febrile excitement. "Then didn't you know?"
She stared at him, turning her head swiftly.
"Know?"
"That I had left him? Yes, I left him, and now he is dead. Do you expect me to be sorry? Well, I am not sorry. Ah, I see you don't understand!"
She made a movement toward Chichester. It was obvious that she was so intensely excited that she had lost the power of self-control.