"Shut the door, Mr. Atley," she said, pointing to it. "I want to ask you a question."
"Pray do, Lady Betty," he answered.
"It is this," she said, meeting his eyes boldly—and a brighter, a more dainty little creature than she looked then had seldom tempted man. "Mr. Stafford's resignation—had it anything, Mr. Atley, to do with—" her face colored a very little—"something that was in the Times this day week?"
His own cheek colored violently enough. "If ever," he was saying to himself, "I meddle or mar between husband and wife again, may I—" But aloud he answered quietly, "Something perhaps." The question was sudden. Her eyes were on his face. He found it impossible to prevaricate.
"My husband has never spoken to me about it," she replied, breathing quickly.
He bowed, having no words adapted to the situation. But he repeated his resolution (as above) more furiously.
"He has never appeared even aware of it," she persisted. "Are you sure that he saw it?"
He wondered at her innocence or her audacity. That such a baby should do so much mischief. The thought irritated him. "It was impossible that he should not see it, Lady Betty," he said, with a touch of asperity. "Quite impossible!"
"Ah," she replied with a faint sigh. "Well, he has never spoken to me about it. And you think it had really something to do with his resignation, Mr. Atley?"
"Most certainly," he said. He was not inclined to spare her this time.