‘Why?’
The woman whispered why in a story of about two minutes’ length. Ethelberta turned pale.
‘Is she going to return?’ she inquired, in a thin hard voice.
‘Yes; next week. You know her, m’m?’
‘No. I am a stranger.’
‘So much the better. I may tell you, then, that an old tale is flying about the neighbourhood—that Lord Mountclere was privately married to another woman, at Knollsea, this morning early. Can it be true?’
‘I believe it to be true.’
‘And that she is of no family?’
‘Of no family.’
‘Indeed. Then the Lord only knows what will become of the poor thing. There will be murder between ’em.’