“Of what?”
“Suspects the truth. She has told me so.”
Old Henry Courtenay grunted in dissatisfaction.
“Hasn’t she tried to convince him to the contrary?” he asked. “I was always under the impression that she could twist him round her finger—so hopelessly was he in love with her.”
“So she could before this unfortunate affair.”
“And now that he suspects the truth he’s disinclined to have any more to do with her—eh? Well,” he added, “after all, it’s only natural. She’s not so devilish clever as you, Mary, otherwise she would never have allowed herself to fall beneath suspicion. She must have somehow blundered.”
“To-morrow I shall go to town,” she said in a reflective voice. “No time should be lost in effecting the reconciliation between them.”
“You are right,” he declared. “You should commence at once. Call and talk with him. He believes so entirely in you. But promise me one thing; that you will not go to Ethelwynn,” he urged.
“Why not?”
“Because it is quite unnecessary,” he answered. “You are not good friends; therefore your influence upon the doctor should be a hidden one. She will believe that he has returned to her of his own free will; hence our position will be rendered the stronger. Act diplomatically. If she believes that you are interesting yourself in her affairs it may anger her.”