But secretly, for all her complacence, she had divined the cause.
She watched him now; she inquired into his goings out and comings in.
Sometimes she knew that he had been to Garthdale, and, though he went
there many more times than she knew, she had noticed that these moods
of his followed invariably on his going. It was as if Gwenda left her
mark on him. So much was certain, and by that certainty she went on to
infer his going from his mood.
One day she taxed him with it.
Rowcliffe had tried to excuse his early morning temper on the plea
that he was "beastly tired."
"Tired?" she had said. "Of course you're tired if you went up to
Garthdale last night."
She added, "It isn't necessary."
He was silent and she knew that she was on his trail.
Two evenings later she caught him as he was leaving the house.
"Where are you going?" she said.
"I'm going up to Garthdale to see your father."
Her eyes flinched.
"You saw him yesterday."
"I did."
"Is he worse?"
He hesitated. Lying had not as yet come lightly to him.
"I'm not easy about him," he said.
She was not satisfied. She had caught the hesitation.
"Can't you tell me," she persisted, "if he's worse?"
He looked at her calmly.
"I can't tell you till I've seen him."
That roused her. She bit her lip. She knew that whatever she did she
must not show temper.
"Did Gwenda send for you?"
Her voice was quiet.
"She did not.
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