The Steels were strolling on
the sweep of the drive before the house, out for outing's sake for the
first time that day, and together for the sake of being together for the
first time that month. There was something untoward in the air. In fact,
there was suspicion, and Rachel was beginning to suspect what that
suspicion was. She could not say absolutely that she did not entertain
it herself for a single instant. She had entertained and had dismissed
the thought a good many times. Why had he never told her his real motive
in marrying her? Some subtle motive there had been; why could he never
tell her what it was? Then there was his intimacy with her first
husband, which she had only discovered by chance, after the most
sedulous concealment on his part. And, finally, there was the defiant
character of his challenge to Langholm, as it were to do his worst (not
his best) as a detective.
On the other hand, there was that woman's instinct which no wise woman
disregards; and Rachel's instinct had never confirmed her fancies in
this matter. But within the last few hours her point of view had totally
changed. Her husband was suspected.
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