It was as if nothing had happened that Philippa came to him on the
terrace the next morning (which was a Tuesday) before breakfast.
As if nothing had happened, as if she had hardly met Furnival, as
if she were considering him for the first time, she began
cross-questioning Straker.
"You know everybody. Tell me about Laurence Furnival. _Is_ he any
good?"
Straker replied that she had better inquire at the Home Office, the
scene of Furnival's industry.
Philippa waved the Home Office aside. "I mean, will he ever _do_
anything?"
"Ask Fanny Brocklebank."
He knew very well that she had asked her, that she had got out of
Fanny full particulars as to Furnival's family and the probable
amount of his income, and that she had come to him as the source of
a finer information.
"Fanny wouldn't know," said she.
"Then," said Straker, "ask Mrs. Viveash."
She turned on him a cold and steady gaze that rebuked his utterance.
How dare he, it said, how dare he mention Mrs. Viveash in her
presence?
She answered quietly: "There will hardly be time, I think. Mrs.
Viveash is going to-day."
Straker turned on her now, and his look expressed a sort of alien
and repugnant admiration. He wondered how far she had gone, how much
she had told, by what intimations she had prevailed with Fanny to
get Mrs. Viveash out of the house. Mrs. Viveash, to be sure, had
only been invited for the week-end, from the Friday to the Tuesday,
but it had been understood that, if her husband prolonged his
business in Liverpool, she was to stay till his return. Viveash was
still in Liverpool--that had been known at Amberley yesterday--and
Mrs. Viveash had not been asked to stay. It had been quite simple.
Mrs. Viveash, not having been asked to stay, would be obliged to go.
"And is Furnival going, too?" he asked.
"I believe not," said Philippa.
An hour later Mrs. Viveash joined them in the avenue where he waited
for Miss Tarrant, who had proposed that he should walk with her to
the village.
In the clear and cruel light of the morning Mrs. Viveash showed him
a blanched face and eyes that had seen with miserable lucidity the
end of illusion, the end of passion, and now saw other things and
were afraid.
"You know I'm going?" she said.
Straker said that he was sorry to hear it; by which he meant that he
was sorry for Mrs. Viveash.
She began to talk to him of trifles, small occurrences at Amberley,
of the affair of Mr. Higginson and Miss Probyn, and then, as by a
natural transition, of Miss Tarrant.
"Do you like Miss Tarrant?" she asked suddenly, point-blank.