She went slowly up the stairs again, not choosing to meet the butler's
eyes, past the drawing-rooms, and up to her own. The sight of the
stranger, coupled with her husband's signs of emotion, had renewed all
her old suspicions, she knew not, she never had known, of what. Jumping
to the conclusion that those letters must be in some way connected with
the mystery, perhaps an advent of the visit, it set her thinking, and
rebellion arose in her heart.
"I wonder if he put them in the ebony cabinet?" she exclaimed. "I have a
key that will fit that."
Yes, she had a key to fit it. A few weeks before, Lord Hartledon mislaid
his keys; he wanted something out of this cabinet, in which he did not,
as a rule, keep anything of consequence, and tried hers. One was found to
unlock it, and he jokingly told her she had a key to his treasures. But
himself strictly honourable, he could not suspect dishonour in another;
and Lord Hartledon supposed it simply impossible that she should attempt
to open it of her own accord.
They were of different natures; and they had been reared in different
schools. Poor Maude Kirton had learnt to be anything but scrupulous,
and really thought it a very slight thing she was about to do, almost
justifiable under the circumstances. Almost, if not quite. Nevertheless
she would not have liked to be caught at it.
She took her bunch of keys and went into her husband's dressing-room,
which opened from their bedroom: but she went on tip-toe, as one who
knows she is doing wrong.
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