Despite her outwardly calm demeanour and confident assurances to Mrs Owen, Edith kept to the centre of the narrow rug which ran the length of the hallway, thus dulling her footsteps and ensuring her arrival wouldn't be heralded to her husband or sister.
She paused outside the parlour door, aware that silence from the room would confirm much more than any noise could.
There was anything but silence. There was quite a bit of passion; but not the romantic type. Tom and Mary were obviously in the middle of a heated argument.
Sighing at her own foolishness, she made to enter the room. She changed her mind, however, when she heard her own name mentioned, and instead decided to listen for a moment longer.
"I just don't think we've reached the stage that obliges us to tell her."
"She's my wife, Mary. I think I know her well enough."
"She's my sister, I know her-"
"Do you? I believe she'd appreciate knowing."
"She's with Gregson."
"We can't be sure about the nature of their relationship."
"Oh, Tom. You can't seriously think they sit around, sipping tea and innocently talking about books every time they meet?"
"Why not? He's her editor"
"Was her editor"
"She might have imagined herself in love with Gregson for a while, but it's nothing like the love she had for Strallan."
"No, her love for Strallan was her romantic ideal. But it doesn't mean he was her true love and the way she moved onto Gregson proved it. She doesn't need to know this new development."
Edith had had quite enough. She opened the door wide, visibly startling Tom and Mary.
"If my opinion matters at all," she snapped, "I would like to opt for knowing exactly what new development you're trying to hide from me."