"You'll get it; go on," said Sprowl contemptuously.
"Your ex-wife," corrected Sprowl without a shade of expression in voice or features.
"Yes," said Ledwith—"Mary. I left the house before she arrived, on my way to Acremont across country. She and your aunt drove up together. I saw them from the hill."
"Very interesting," said Sprowl. "Is that all?"
Ledwith detached himself from the tree and stood aside, under it, looking down at the grass.
"You are going to marry her of course," he said.
"That," retorted Sprowl, "is none of your business."
"Because," continued Ledwith, not heeding him, "that is the only thing possible. There is nothing else for her to do—for you to do. She knows it, you know it, and so do I."
"I know all about it," said Sprowl coolly. "Is there anything else?"