“I’m so glad you’ve come, Lily,” she said, and indicated that she wished Lily to sit on the sofa beside her.

You had to say, Lily considered, Hetty Master had worn very well. Her hair was gray. But then so would mine be, Lily thought, if I let it. Her bosom was matronly, but she had by no means let herself go, and her face was still handsome. Any sensible man of seventy should be proud of having such a wife.

But then, what man of any age was sensible?

During the last two decades, she supposed they must have met several times every year, at the opera, or in other people’s houses. And on these occasions, Hetty had always been polite and even friendly to her. Once, about fifteen years ago, after a recital she had given—which Frank had financed, of course—Hetty had actually asked her some quite intelligent questions about the music. They had been in a big house with a music room, so Lily had taken her to a piano, and shown her which parts were the most difficult to sing, and why. They’d had quite a long talk, and by the end of it, she could tell that, whatever else her feelings might be, Hetty had genuinely respected her professionally.

But had Hetty guessed that Frank was her lover? There had never been any indication that she did. Lily had no idea what Hetty might have done if she had known, and, as she had no wish to cause Hetty pain, Lily hoped she didn’t. She and Frank had always been discreet, and Frank was forever telling her: “Hetty has no idea.”

Now Hetty poured the tea. She waited until the maid had left the room, however, before she began.

“I asked you to come round, because I need your help,” she said calmly.

“If I can,” said Lily, a little uncertainly.

“I’m worried about Frank,” Hetty continued. She gave Lily a quick look. “Aren’t you?”

“I?”

“Yes,” Hetty said, in a businesslike fashion. “I’m worried about this girl. Have you met her?”

Lily was silent for a moment. “I think you have the advantage of me,” she said cautiously.

“Have I?” Hetty smiled. “I’ve known that you were Frank’s mistress for a long time, you know.”

“Oh,” said Lily. She paused. “How long?”

“Twenty years.”

Lily looked down at her hands. “I don’t know what to say,” she said.

“If it was going to be somebody,” said Hetty, “I suppose I’d just as soon it was you.”

Lily didn’t reply.

“You were quite discreet,” Hetty continued. “I was glad of that.”

Lily still didn’t reply.