What followed showed that Mrs. Strickland was a woman of character. Whatever anguish she suffered she concealed. She saw shrewdly that the world is quickly bored by the recital of misfortune, and willingly avoids the sight of distress. Whenever she went out—and compassion for her misadventure made her friends eager to entertain her—she bore a demeanour that was perfect. She was brave, but not too obviously; cheerful, but not brazenly; and she seemed more anxious to listen to the troubles of others than to discuss her own. Whenever she spoke of her husband it was with pity. Her attitude towards him at first perplexed me. One day she said to me:  
"You know, I'm convinced you were mistaken about Charles being alone. From what I've been able to gather from certain sources that I can't tell you, I know that he didn't leave England by himself."
 
"In that case he has a positive genius for covering up his tracks."
 
She looked away and slightly coloured.
 
"What I mean is, if anyone talks to you about it, please don't contradict it if they say he eloped with somebody."
 
"Of course not."
 
She changed the conversation as though it were a matter to which she attached no importance. I discovered presently that ............