Seating himself on the tree by the side of Marsh, he began to manufacture a cigarette. By this time, to all outward seeming, he was thoroughly himself again.
The shock of the news brought him by his foster brother had stunned, and in a measure unmanned him for a little while, but his nature was too self-poised, and his nerves too thoroughly under control, to allow of his equanimity being seriously disturbed for any length of time. That which had happened, however much it was to be deplored, belonged to the past, and not all the powers of Heaven and earth combined could alter or undo it. The only thing left him was to face the consequences, and that he was prepared to do.
"It was not a fact, then, that Miss Fenwicke was married?" queried Roden, after a pause.
"The statement was false from beginning to end. No such letter was ever written by Lady Linthorpe; but not till about a month ago did that fact come to my knowledge, and not till then was I in a position to fathom the depths of my wife's treachery. It was she who arranged the conversation overheard by Madeline that evening on the terrace, the actors in it being the son of her father's bailiff and the governess to her two younger sisters. It was a damnable plot, but it succeeded."
He proceeded to light his cigarette, which done, he resumed his slow pacing to and fro.
"It was indeed a black business," said Roden. "Did you tell Mrs. Drelincourt of your discovery?"
"I did not fail to do so."
"And she----?"
"Laughed at me with that cold blooded laugh of hers which used to go through me like a knife. In those days, she said, she was such a simpleton as to fancy herself in love with me, and, in any case, she had vowed to herself that Miss Fenwicke should never be my wife. She will never laugh at me again."
"I am glad, Felix, you have told me this," said Roden presently. "It has served to make clear much that was obscure to me before."