She had seen Ethne turn out the lamp, and the swift change in the room from light to dark, with its suggestion of secrecy and the private talk of lovers, had been a torture to her.

But she had not fled from the torture.

She had sat listening, and the music as it floated out upon the garden with its thrill of happiness, its accent of yearning, and the low, hushed conversation which followed upon its cessation in that darkened room, had struck upon a chord of imagination in Mrs.Adair and had kindled her jealousy into a scorching flame.

Then suddenly Ethne had taken flight.
The possibility of a quarrel Mrs.Adair dismissed from her thoughts.

She knew very well that Ethne was not of the kind which quarrels, nor would she escape by running away, should she be entangled in a quarrel.