But she could see that Diane watched her more closely now, and in a cat-like way. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. And it is not at all his affair. She found herself struggling with a storm of tears. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not in prison. That was the glorious if bewildering truth. We are not animals. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. She makes me feel terribly old-fashioned. I told him the truth.
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