THE TOUCHSTONE
silently behind the kettle. "Who asked you to take a ticket for that reading?"
"I don't know, really—Kate Dresham, I fancy. It was she who got it up."
"It's just the sort of damnable vulgarity she's capable of! It's loathsome—it's monstrous—"
His wife, without looking up, answered gravely, "I thought so too. It was for that reason I didn't go. But you must remember that very few people feel about Mrs. Aubyn as you do—"
Glennard managed to set down his cup with a steady hand, but the room swung round with him and he dropped into the nearest chair. "As I do?" he repeated.
"I mean that very few people knew her when she lived in New York. To most of the women who went to the reading she was a mere name, too remote to have any personality. With me, of course, it was different—"
Glennard gave her a startled look. "Different? Why different?"
"Since you were her friend—"
[ 99 ]
