'No. You have a trouble, and I'd give anything to take it away.'
Madame Frabelle looked at her with sympathy, pressed her hand, then
looked away.
Edith knew she was looking away out of delicacy. Delicacy about what? It
was an effort not to laugh; but, oddly enough, it was also an effort not
to feel secretly miserable. She wondered, though, what she was unhappy
about. She need not have troubled, for Madame Frabelle was quite willing
to tell her. She was, indeed, willing to tell anyone anything. Perhaps
that was the secret of her charm.
CHAPTER IV
It was utterly impossible, literally out of the question, that Madame
Frabelle could know anything about the one trouble, the one danger, that
so narrowly escaped being almost a tragedy, in Edith's life.
It was three years since Bruce, always inclined to vague, mild
flirtations, had been positively carried off his feet, and literally
taken away by a determined young art student, with red hair, who had
failed to marry a friend of his. While Edith, with the children, was
passing the summer holidays at Westgate, Bruce had sent her the
strangest of letters, informing her that he and Mavis Argles could not
live without one another, and had gone to Australia together, and
imploring her to divorce him.
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