Part 21

Mrs. Hilary began to walk up and down.

“Oh, so Hilary helped to let him go, because they both--?”

“Precisely,” said I.

“And you dare to come and tell me?”

“Well, I thought you ought to know,” said I. “Hilary’s just as mad about her as Johnny--in fact, he said he’d be hanged if he wouldn’t have done the same himself.”

I have once seen Madame Ristori play Lady Macbeth. Her performance was recalled to me by the tones in which Mrs. Hilary asked:

“Who is this woman, if you please, Mr. Carter?”

“So Hilary got him off--gave him fifty pounds too.”

“Glad to get him away, perhaps,” she burst out, in angry scorn.

“Who knows?” said I. “Perhaps.”

“Her name?” demanded Lady Macbeth--I mean Mrs. Hilary--again.

“I shan’t tell you, unless you promise to say nothing to Hilary.”

“To say nothing! Well, really--”

“Oh, all right!” and I took up my hat.

“But I can watch them, can’t I?”

“As much as you like.”

“Won’t you tell me?”

“If you promise.”

“Well, then, I promise.”

“Look in the glass.”

“What for?”

“To see your face, to be sure.”

She started, blushed red, and moved a step towards me.

“You don’t mean--?” she cried.

“Thou art the woman,” said I.

“Oh, but he never said a word--”

“Johnny had his code,” said I. “And in some ways it was better than some people’s--in some, alas! worse.”

“And Hilary?”