“Perfectly,” she said. “I have no doubt Grace rashly talked of matters which an older and wiser person would have kept to herself.”
“Very good. Do you also agree that the last idea in the woman’s mind when she was struck by the shell might have been (quite probably) the idea of Miss Roseberry’s identity and Miss Roseberry’s affairs? You think it likely enough? Well, what happens after that? The wounded woman is brought to life by an operation, and she becomes delirious in the hospital at Mannheim. During her delirium the idea of Miss Roseberry’s identity ferments in her brain, and assumes its present perverted form. In that form it still remains. As a necessary consequence, she persists in reversing the two identities. She says she is Miss Roseberry, and declares Miss Roseberry to be Mercy Merrick. There is the doctor ‘s explanation. What do you think of it?”
“Very ingenious, I dare say. The doctor doesn’t quite satisfy me, however, for all that. I think—”
What Lady Janet thought was not destined to be expressed. She suddenly checked herself, and held up her hand for the second time.
“Another objection?” inquired Julian.
“Hold your tongue!” cried the old lady. “If you say a word more I shall lose it again.”
“Lose what, aunt?”
“What I wanted to say to you ages ago. I have got it back again—it begins with a question. (No more of the doctor—I have had enough of him!) Where is she—your pitiable lady, my crazy wretch—where is she now? Still in London?”
“Yes.”
“And still at large?”