He took it hastily and placed it in his card-case. “At what time?” he asked again. “Ten o’clock?”
“You surely do not expect me to be up at that unearthly hour of the morning?” she answered in an aggrieved tone. “You can come at twelve.”
At that moment Lord Bexley reappeared, and, with a bow, the artist moved away. Then, when he had taken leave of Celia and was on his way to his hotel, he paused under a street lamp to examine the card.
“Mrs. Neville Williams,
150 Cromwell Mansions,
South Kensington, S.W.”
Such was its inscription.
Herbert read it aloud. “Mrs. Neville Williams.” The name seemed to have a familiar ring about it. Where had he heard it before? Suddenly he recollected. It was the name of the Vicar of Durlston’s brother-in-law, the late Dr. Neville Williams of Harley Street. Good Heavens! Could Ninette have had the audacity to pose as the doctor’s wife?—or of what had she been guilty?
A cold sweat broke out upon his brow as he thought of it. In whatever way she had disgraced him, she was still his wife; and now that she had suddenly crossed his path again, there could be no more ignoring of the fact.
What would society say if the scandal were exposed? he wondered dully.
What would Marjorie say?