Part 52 (1/2)

”And who,” said Rowcliffe, ”is Lady Frances Gilbey?”

”She's a cousin of my stepmother's.”

He considered it.

”And Mrs.--er--Cartaret lives in London, doesn't she?”

”Oh, yes.”

Mary's tone implied that you couldn't expect that brilliant lady to live anywhere else.

There was a moment in which Rowcliffe again evoked the image of the third Mrs. Cartaret who was ”the very one.” If anything could have depressed him more, that did.

But he pulled himself together. There were things he had to know.

”And does your sister like living in London?”

Mary smiled. ”I imagine she does very much indeed.”

”Somehow,” said Rowcliffe, ”I can't see her there. I thought she liked the country.”

”Oh, you never can tell whether Gwenda really likes anything. She may have liked it. She may have liked it awfully. But she couldn't go on liking it forever.”

And to Rowcliffe it was as if Mary had said that wasn't Gwenda's way.

”There's no doubt she's done the best thing. For herself, I mean.”

Rowcliffe a.s.sented. ”Perhaps she has.”

And Mary, as if doubt had only just occurred to her, made a sudden little tremulous appeal.

”You don't really think Garth was the place for her?”

”I don't really think anything about it,” Rowcliffe said.

Mary was pensive. Her brooding look said that she laid a secret fear to rest.

”Garth couldn't satisfy a girl like Gwenda.”

Rowcliffe said no, he supposed it couldn't satisfy her. His dejection was by this time terrible. It cast a visible, a palpable gloom.

”She's a restless creature,” said Mary, smiling.

She threw it out as if by way of lightening his oppression, almost as if she put it to him that if Gwenda was restless (by which Rowcliffe might understand, if he liked, capricious) she couldn't help it. There was no reason why he should be so horribly hurt. It was not as if there was anything personal in Gwenda's changing att.i.tudes. And Rowcliffe did indeed say to himself, Restless--restless. Yes. That was the word for her; and he supposed she couldn't help it.

The study door opened and shut. Mary's eyes made a sign to him that said, ”We can't talk about this before my father. He won't like it.”

But Mr. Cartaret had gone upstairs. They could hear him moving in the room overhead.