“Margaret has spent nearly every afternoon with her for some days.”
Susie did not answer. This was the first she had heard of Mrs. Bloomfield’s illness, and it was news that Margaret was in the habit of visiting her. But her chief object at this moment was to get rid of Arthur.
“Won’t you come back at five o’clock?” she said.
“But, look here, why shouldn’t we lunch together, you and I?”
“I’m very sorry, but I’m expecting somebody in.”
“Oh, all right. Then I’ll come back at five.”
He nodded and went out. Susie read the brief note once more, and asked herself if it could possibly be true. The callousness of it was appalling. She went to Margaret’s room and saw that everything was in its place. It did not look as if the owner had gone on a journey. But then she noticed that a number of letters had been destroyed. She opened a drawer and found that Margaret’s trinkets were gone. Then an idea struck her. Margaret had bought lately a number of clothes, and these she had insisted should be sent to her dressmaker, saying that it was needless to cumber their little apartment with them. They could stay there till she returned to England a few weeks later for her marriage, and it would be simpler to despatch them all from one place. Susie went out. At the door it occurred to her to ask the concierge if she knew where Margaret had gone that morning.
“Parfaitement, Mademoiselle,” answered the old
