‘Mrs Talbot? Do I know her? Was she the lady waiting when I came in? Ask Mr Forbes if he’ll see Mr Smith when he comes.’ Philippa was shown in. ‘Why, Miss Shelley,’ said Mr Frobisher, rising. ‘ I didn’t recognize you. Of course, it must be six years. You’re Mrs Talbot now?’ Philippa shook hands with him. ‘I came to you, Mr Frobisher; I happened to remember your address and you were the only solicitor I knew. You see, I thought I’d prefer to talk this over with someone.’ ‘Do sit down. Some trouble? Don’t hurry yourself. Have you been married long?’ It took some minutes for Philippa to tell Mr Frobisher all he wanted to know about her career; he had known her as a girl of eighteen struggling to make enough money to pay for music lessons abroad. Urgency prompted her to cut him short and to tell him of last night, of Nick’s meeting with Elizabeth Rusman. Shame made her try to minimize the quarrel, to make it seem half horse-play; her face flushed up as she spoke of throwing the bottle of lotion, of Nick’s walking out, of the visit from the police this morning.
