However, when the church-bells began, she was turning round in her
warm bed for another nap.
Maude did not go down early; had not yet taken to doing so. She
breakfasted in her room, remained toying with her baby for some time,
and then went into her own sitting-room; a small cosy apartment on the
drawing-room floor, into which visitors did not intrude. It looked on to
Hyde Park, and a very white and dreary park it was on that particular
day.
Drawing a chair to the window, she sat looking out. That is, her eyes
were given to the outer world, but she was so deep in thought as to see
nothing of it. For two nights and a day, burning with curiosity, she had
been putting this and that together in her own mind, and drawing
conclusions according to her own light. First, there was the advent of
the visitor; secondly, there was the letter she had dipped into. She
connected the two with each other and wondered WHAT the secret care could
be that had such telling effect upon her husband.
Gorton. The name had struck upon her memory, even whilst she read it, as
one associated with that terrible time--the late Lord Hartledon's death.
Gradually the floodgates of recollection opened, and she knew him for the
witness at the inquest about whom some speculation had arisen as to who
he was, and what his business at Calne might have been with Lord
Hartledon and his brother, Val Elster.
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