It was a relief to get away. Earlier in the day it had been raining, but now no moisture fell, though the air seemed full of it. Chloe was too preoccupied to notice the weather. Mrs. Mostyn Llewellyn’s look played hide and seek in her mind with the voice which had seemed familiar, but which she could not place. If she turned her attention to one, the other came close and was within an ace of being grasped; it was very teasing. She began to try and think, instead, about this puzzling business of the diamond star; and then all at once the meaning of Mrs. Mostyn Llewellyn’s look came to her. She gave a little angry laugh and stuck her chin in the air. “Idiot!” she said with so much energy that an absent-minded passer-by started, stopped, and murmured, “I beg your pardon?” Chloe dismissed Mrs. Mostyn Llewellyn and her ridiculous suspicions. There remained the voice. Very elusive that voice, and associated in a vague manner with something unpleasant—with Danesborough.
