Lady Holme got up from the piano.
“Sir Donald!” she said.
She came to sit down near Lady Cardington.
“Sir Donald! Why do you say that?”
And she searched Lady Cardington’s eyes with eyes full of inquiry.
Lady Cardington looked away. The wistful power that generally seemed a part of her personality had surely died out in her. There was something nervous in her expression, deprecating in her attitude.
“Why do you speak about Sir Donald?” Lady Holme said.
“Don’t you know?”
Lady Cardington looked up. There was an extraordinary sadness in her eyes, mingled with a faint defiance.
“Know what?”