And at
the bottom of all the thoughts rankled that memory of the extinguished
lamp, and the low, hushed voices speaking one to the other in darkness.
Therefore she spoke to give pain and was glad that she gave it, even
though it was to the man whom she coveted.
"There's one thing which I don't understand," said Durrance. "I mean the
change which we both noticed in Ethne to-night. I mistook the cause of
it, that's evident. I was a fool. But there must have been a cause. The
gift of laughter had been restored to her. Her gravity, her air of
calculation, had vanished. She became just what she was five years ago."
"Exactly," Mrs. Adair answered. "Just what she was before Mr. Feversham
disappeared from Ramelton. You are so quick, Colonel Durrance. Ethne had
good news of Mr. Feversham this morning."
Durrance turned quickly towards her, and Mrs. Adair felt a pleasure at
his abrupt movement. She had provoked the display of some emotion, and
the display of emotion was preferable to his composure.
"Are you quite sure?" he asked.
"As sure as that you gave her the worst of news to-night," she replied.
But Durrance did not need the answer. Ethne had made another slip that
evening, and though unnoticed at the time, it came back to Durrance's
memory now.
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