Majendie had sent up a waitress with breakfast to her room.

He was always thoughtful for her comfort.

It did not occur to her to wonder what significance there might be in his thus keeping away from her, or what attitude toward her he would now be inclined to take.
She would not have admitted that he had a right to any attitude at all.
It was for her, as the profoundly injured person, to decide as to the new disposal of their relations.
She was very clear about her grievance.

The facts, that her husband had been pointed at in the public drawing-room of their hotel; that the terrible statement she had overheard had been made and received casually; that he had assumed, no less casually, her knowledge of the thing, all bore but one interpretation: that Walter Majendie and the scandal he had figured in were alike notorious.

The marvel was that, staying in the town where he lived and was known, she herself had not heard of it before.