compressed under her teeth. “This woman understands me,” Mr. Tulkinghorn thinks as she lets her glance fall again. “ She cannot be spared. Why should she spare others?”
For a little while they are silent. Lady Dedlock has eaten no dinner, but has twice or thrice poured out water with a steady hand and drunk it. She rises from table, takes a lounging-chair, and reclines in it, shading her face. There is nothing in her manner to express weakness or excite compassion. It is thoughtful, gloomy, concentrated. “This woman,” thinks Mr. Tulkinghorn, standing on the hearth, again a dark object closing up her view, “is a study.”
He studies her at his leisure, not speaking for a time. She too studies something at her leisure. She is not the first to speak, appearing indeed so unlikely to be so, though he stood there until midnight, that even he is driven upon breaking silence.
“Lady Dedlock, the most disagreeable part of this business interview remains, but it is business. Our agreement is broken. A lady of your sense and strength of character will be prepared for my now declaring it void and taking my own course.”
“I am quite prepared.”
Mr. Tulkinghorn inclines his head. “That is all I have to trouble you with, Lady Dedlock.”
She stops him as he is moving out of the room by asking, “This is the notice I was to receive? I wish not to misapprehend you.”
“Not exactly the notice you were to receive, Lady Dedlock, because the contemplated notice supposed the agreement to have been observed. But virtually the same, virtually the same. The difference is merely in a lawyer’s mind.”
“You intend to give me no other notice?”