CHAPTER FORTY-TWOMiss Silver was ready to go. The modest suit-case was packed. The woollen gloves, black cloth coat, the elderly fur tippet, were ready to put on. The black felt hat with its loops of ribbon had been assumed. A handsome cheque had passed. It remained only to bid Adriana Ford farewell.
She found her in an upright chair, her head high, her dark red hair meticulously arranged, her make-up carefully applied.
“Well,” she said, “so far as you are concerned it is over. As far as we are concerned it is just going to begin. Pity one can’t drop the curtain and call the whole thing off, isn’t it? I keep wondering what would have happened if I had never written to you or come to see you.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“I do not feel that I had much part in clearing the matter up.”
Adriana
