‘Did it?’ she said, sarcastically.  ’If I know little of men, it’s certain you don’t know much more of women.’

He leaned back and laughed.  And whilst he laughed Paula quitted the room.

Paula still kept up her habit of letter-writing.  After breakfast next morning she sat in her pretty boudoir, writing to Annabel.  After sentences referring to Annabel’s expected arrival in London for the season, she added this: 

’A very shocking story has just come to my ears.  I oughtn’t really to repeat it to you, dear, and yet in another way it is my duty to.  Mr. Egremont has disappeared, and with him the girl who was just going to marry his librarian—­the poor man you know of from him.  There are no means of knowing whether they have run away together to be married—­or not.  Everybody knows about it; it is the talk of Lambeth.  My husband heard of it at once.  The girl is said to be very good-looking.  I wish I could refuse to believe it, but there is no doubt whatever.  You ought to know at once; but perhaps you will have heard already.  I never knew anything more dreadful, and I can’t say what I feel.’

There was not much more in the letter.  Having fastened up the envelope, Paula let it lie on her desk, whilst she walked about the room.  Each time she passed the desk she looked at the letter, and lingered a little.  Once she took it up and seemed about to open it again.  Her expression all this time was very strange; her colour came and went; she bit her lips, and twisted her fingers together.  At length she rang the bell, and when the servant came, gave the letter to be posted immediately.

Five minutes later she was in her bedroom, sitting in a low chair, crying like a very unhappy child.

The letter reached Eastbourne two days before that appointed for the departure of Annabel and her father for London.  They had accepted Mrs. Tyrrell’s invitation to her house; Mr. Newthorpe might remain only a fortnight, or might stay through the season—­but Annabel would not come back to Eastbourne before August.  She said little, but her father saw with what pleasure she anticipated this change.  He wondered whether it would do her good or harm.  Her books lay almost unused; of late she had attended chiefly to music, in such hours as were not spent out of doors.  Mr. Newthorpe’s health was as far improved as he could hope it ever would be.  He too looked forward to associating once more with the few friends he had in London.

It was in the evening that Annabel, entering after a long drive with her father, found Paula’s letter.  She took it from the hall in passing to her room.

At dinner she spoke very little.  After the meal she said that she wished to walk over to The Chestnuts.  She left her father deep in a French novel—­he read much more of the lighter literature now than formerly.

Mrs. Ormonde was upstairs with her children; they were singing to her; Annabel heard the choir of young voices as she entered the garden.  The servant who went to announce her brought back a request that she would ascend and hear a song.