“All that seems to me very far-fetched,” she said acidly. “I don’t deny that perhaps Amy took her husband a little too much for granted. If she hadn’t been so busy with her own affairs, I can’t believe that she wouldn’t have suspected something was the matter. I don’t think that Alec could have something on his mind for a year or more without my having a pretty shrewd idea of it.” The Colonel stared into vacancy, and I wondered whether anyone could be quite so innocent of guile as he looked. “But that doesn’t prevent the fact that Charles Strickland is a heartless beast.” She looked at me severely. “I can tell you why he left his wife—from pure selfishness and nothing else whatever.” “That is certainly the simplest explanation,” I said. But I thought it explained nothing. When, saying I was tired, I rose to go, Mrs. Strickland made no attempt to detain me. Chapter XVI What followed showed that Mrs. Strickland was a woman of character. Whatever anguish she suffered she concealed. She saw shrewdly that the world is quickly bored by the recital of misfortune, and willingly avoids the sight of distress. Whenever she went out—and compassion for her misadventure made her friends eager to entertain her—she bore a demeanour that was perfect. She was brave, but not too obviously; cheerful, but not brazenly; and she seemed more anxious to listen to the troubles of others than to discuss her own. Whenever she spoke of her husband it was with pity. Her attitude towards him at first perplexed me. One day she said to me: “You know, I’m convinced you were mistaken about Charles being alone. From what I’ve been able to gather from certain sources that I can’t tell you, I know that he didn’t leave England by himself.” “In that case he has a positive genius for covering up his tracks.” She looked away and slightly coloured. “What I mean is, if anyone talks to you about it, please don’t contradict it if they say he eloped with somebody.” “Of course not.”