New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“It seems she has reason to think that Lord Trevenna’s people are trying
to get him away from her before she gets her divorce--”
“Well?”
“And she fancied he had been consulting with you last night as to--as to
the best way of escaping from her.”
Gannett stood up with an angry forehead.
“Well--what concern of yours was all this dirty business? Why should she
go to you?”
“Don’t you see? It’s so simple. I was to wheedle his secret out of you.”
“To oblige that woman?”
“Yes; or, if I was unwilling to oblige her, then to protect myself.”
“To protect yourself? Against whom?”
“Against her telling every one in the hotel that she and I are in the
same box.”
“She threatened that?”
“She left me the choice of telling it myself or of doing it for me.”
“The beast!”
There was a long silence. Lydia had seated herself on the sofa, beyond
the radius of the lamp, and he leaned against the window. His next
question surprised her.
“When did this happen? At what time, I mean?” She looked at him vaguely.
“I don’t know--after luncheon, I think. Yes, I remember; it must have
been at about three o’clock.”
He stepped into the middle of the room and as he approached the light
she saw that his brow had cleared.
“Why do you ask?” she said.
“Because when I came in, at about half-past three, the mail was just
being distributed, and Mrs. Cope was waiting as usual to pounce on
her letters; you know she was always watching for the postman. She
was standing so close to me that I couldn’t help seeing a big
official-looking envelope that was handed to her. She tore it open, gave
one look at the inside, and rushed off upstairs like a whirlwind, with
the director shouting after her that she had left all her other letters
behind. I don’t believe she ever thought of you again after that paper
was put into her hand.”
“Why?”
“Because she was too busy. I was sitting in the window, watching for
you, when the five o’clock boat left, and who should go on board, bag
and baggage, valet and maid, dressing-bags and poodle, but Mrs. Cope
and Trevenna. Just an hour and a half to pack up in! And you should
have seen her when they started. She was radiant--shaking hands with
everybody--waving her handkerchief from the deck--distributing bows and
smiles like an empress. If ever a woman got what she wanted just in the
nick of time that woman did. She’ll be Lady Trevenna within a week, I’ll
wager.”
“You think she has her divorce?”
“I’m sure of it. And she must have got it just after her talk with you.”
Lydia was silent.
At length she said, with a kind of reluctance, “She was horribly
angry when she left me. It wouldn’t have taken long to tell Lady Susan
Condit.”
“Lady Susan Condit has not been told.”
“How do you know?”
“Because when I went downstairs half an hour ago I met Lady Susan on the
way--”
He stopped, half smiling.
“Well?”
“And she stopped to ask if I thought you would act as patroness to a
charity concert she is getting up.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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