Cheered and emboldened by this thought, I swoop down like a sudden eagle to the rescue.
"You know Rog--, my husband, do not you ?" I say, with an abrupt bluntness that contrasts finely with the languid gentleness with which her little remarks steal out like mice.

_Mine_ rushes forth like a desolating bomb-shell.
"A little--yes." "You knew him in India, did not you ?" say I, unable to resist the temptation of seizing this opportunity to gratify my curiosity, drawing my chair a little nearer hers, and speaking with an eagerness which I, in vain, try to stifle.
"Yes," smiling sweetly, "in India." "He was there a long time," continue I, communicatively.
"Yes." (Well, she _is_ baffling! when she does not say "yes" affirmatively, she says it interrogatively.) "All the same he did not like it," I go on, with amicable volubility; "but I dare say you know that.

They say--" (reddening as I feel, perceptibly, and nervously twisting my pocket-handkerchief round my fingers)--"that people are so sociable in India: now, I dare say you saw a good deal of him." "Yes; we met several times." She is smiling again.

There is not a shade of hesitation or unreadiness in her low voice, nor does the faintest tinge of color stain the fine pallor of her cheeks.
(It _must_ have been a lie!) "_Your_ husband, too, is out--" I pause; not sure of the locality, but she does not help me, so I add lamely, "_somewhere_, is not he ?" "He is in the West Indies." "In the West Indies!" cry I, with animation, drawing my chair yet a little nearer hers, and feeling positively friendly; "why, that is where _mine_ is too!" "Yes ?" "We are companions in misfortune," cry I, heartily; "we must keep up each other's spirits, must not we ?" Another smile, but no verbal answer.
A noise of feet coming across the hall--of manly whistling makes itself heard.

The door opens and Algy enters.