“No, that’s the strange part of it. She and her husband don’t run in double harness. And she’s a fool with her own child.”
“But that’s absurd. I suppose her husband has treated her badly, as most of them do.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“In nine cases out of ten it’s the man’s fault.”
“Perhaps this is the tenth.”
“Oh, rot! There’s a man somewhere. There must be someone else besides her husband, or she wouldn’t be talking for the men.”
“I don’t think so. If you knew Mrs. Canterton, you might understand.”
Yet she doubted whether they would have understood, for busybodies and extremists generally detest each other, especially when they are arguing from opposite sides of the table.
Eve wanted to be alone, to think things out, to face this new crisis that had opened before her so suddenly. It was the more dangerous and problematical since the strong current of her impulses flowed steadily towards Fernhill. She went to bed early, leaving Joan Gaunt and Lizzie Straker writing letters.
When the door had closed on Eve, they put down their pens and looked at each other.