"I've made a dreadful discovery," went on Katherine in suppressed tones.
"It came to me like a flash. I couldn't believe my own brain. So I
watched them from my window. There's no doubt about it, mamma. It's as
plain as the nose on your face. He--"
"My darling, what are you talking about? Is my nose--what is the matter
with my nose?" She vaguely felt of her nose in horror.
"He's in love with her. There's no mistake. And, will you believe me,
mamma, she is _encouraging_ him! Positively! Why--why, it's utterly
contemptible! Oh, dear, what are we to do?"
Mrs. Rodney looked blankly at her daughter, who had thrown herself in a
chair. She gasped and then gave vent to a tremulous squeak.
"In love! Your father? With whom--who is she?"
"Father? Oh, Lord, mother, I didn't say anything about father. Don't
cry! It's another man altogether."
"Not Freddie Ulstervelt?" quavered Mrs. Rodney, pulling herself
together. "After all he has said to you--"
"No, no, mamma," cried her daughter irritably. "Freddie may be in love
with her, but he's not the only one. Mamma!" She straightened up and
looked at her mother with wide, horror-struck eyes, "Roxbury Medcroft is
madly in love with Constance Fowler!"
Mrs. Rodney did not utter a sound for fully a minute and a half. She
never took her eyes from her daughter's distressed face. The colour was
coming back into her own, and her lips were setting themselves into thin
red lines above her rigid chin.
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