“Exhibit that tact and delicacy which you displayed at your last meeting,” broke in Kent curtly. “Asking a woman to marry you, on the day of her husband’s burial!”
“It wasn’t her husband’s burial.”
“She supposed it was.”
Sedgwick checked his nervous pacing. “Do you think so? You believe she wasn’t a party to that ghastly fraud?”
“Certainly not. She attended the funeral ceremony in good faith. In my belief the real circumstances of Blair’s death are as unknown to her as they are to—to you.”
“Assuming always that he is dead. Your confidence being so sound, it must be based on something. How did he come to his death?”
“If I knew that, I shouldn’t be going to Boston to consult an astrologer.”
“Have you still got astrology on the brain?”
“Hopelessly,” smiled Kent.
“Luck go with you. And I—”