Some sly hints of Secundina's, however, had shown her
that the servants knew, and she had not been able to resist asking
questions. Afterward she could not put out of her head Secundina's
description of the dreadful couple.
The man had been of good birth, the woman _bourgeoise_, but clever. They
had gambled and made money, eventually losing it again, and all their
capital besides. Then they had grown desperate, at their wits' end, and
they had killed a woman who trusted and thought of them as her friends.
At night, when Eve lay awake worrying, as she often did--especially when
Dauntrey had been losing--she seemed to see the two haggard faces
staring at her hopelessly, growing and taking shape in the darkness.
Worse than all, she seemed to understand something in their eyes which
they wished to make her understand. She wondered if, by any chance, the
room where she and her husband slept had been theirs, and if between
these walls they had talked over the murder before committing it. She
imagined how they had felt, how they had hated and rebelled against the
idea at first, then accepted it as the one thing left to do. The story
was that the woman had persuaded the man to consent, though he had
refused at first.
One day, after a worse quarrel than any that had gone before, Mrs.
Collis left with Lottie, packing up in a hurry, and driving off to a
hotel. This gave Lady Dauntrey an empty room; and already Dodo had twice
vowed that she too would go. Now, in all probability the Collises would
persuade her to join them; and perhaps an epidemic of departure would
sweep through the villa.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234