‘There’s nothing in that,’ said Madeline, determinedly, ‘to prove that she wasn’t—respectable.’
‘N—no. Of course not,’ and again the eye of Mrs. Gammidge met that of Mrs. Mickie.
‘Though, you see love,’ added the latter lady, ‘it would have been nicer for his people—they’ve never spoken to him since—if she had been making her living otherwise in Cairo.’
‘As a barmaid, for instance,’ said Madeline, sarcastically.
‘As a barmaid, for instance,’ repeated Mrs. Gammidge, calmly.
‘But Simla isn’t related to him—Simla doesn’t care!’ Mrs. Mickie exclaimed. ‘Everybody will be as polite as possible when she turns up. You’ll see. You knew, didn’t you, that she was coming out in the Caledonia?’
‘No,’ said Madeline. She looked carefully where she was going to put her coffee-cup, and then she glanced out again at the laburnum hanging over the plains. ‘I—I am glad to hear it. These separations you take so lightly out here are miserable, tragic.’
The other ladies did not exchange glances this time. Miss Anderson’s change of tone was too marked for comment which she might have detected.
‘Colonel Innes got the telegram this morning. She wired from Brindisi,’ Mrs. Gammidge said.
‘Does he seem pleased?’ asked Mrs. Mickie, demurely.