Alma nodded, and then looked again at the intruder, surveying her from head to foot with instinctive dislike and dread. She belonged to a type with which Alma was little familiar. Her eyebrows were blackened, her lips painted, and her whole style of dress was prononcé and extraordinary.
The ees of the two women met. Then Alma left the vestry, unconsciously shrinking away from the stranger as she passed her by.
Bradley followed her to the door, closed it quietly, and turning, faced his tormentor.
‘What brings you here?’ he demanded sternly. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘I’m not quite sure,’ replied Mrs. Montmorency, shrugging her shoulders. ‘Before I try to tell you, let me apologise for interrupting your tête-à-tête with that charming lady.’
‘Do not speak of her! She is too good and pure even to be mentioned by such as you.’
Mrs. Montmorency’s eyes flashed viciously, and she showed her teeth, as animals, wild or only half tame, do when they are dangerous.
‘You are very polite,’ she returned. ‘As to her goodness and her purity, you know more about them than I do. She seems fond of you, at any rate; even fonder than when I saw you travelling together the other day, over in France.’
This was a home-thrust, and Bradley at once showed that he was disconcerted.
‘In France! travelling together!’ he repeated. ‘What do you mean?’