She was in such need of communion with some one that for a moment she thought of going in.

But she knew beforehand the greeting that would await her; the empty platitudes, the obvious small change of verbiage which her ladyship would dole out.

The very thought of it restrained her, and so she passed on to her own room and a sleepless night in which to piece together the puzzle which the situation offered her, the amazing enigma of Sir Terence's seeming access of insanity.
And the only conclusion that she reached was that intertwined with the death of Samoval there was some other circumstance which had aroused in the adjutant an unreasoning hatred of his friend, converting him into Tremayne's bitterest enemy, intent--as he had confessed--upon seeing him shot for that night's work.

And because she knew them both for men of honour above all, the enigma was immeasurably deepened.
Had she but obeyed the transient impulse to seek Lady O'Moy she might have discovered all the truth at once.

For she would have come upon her ladyship in a frame of mind almost as distraught as her own; and she might--had she penetrated to the dressing-room where her ladyship was--have come upon Richard Butler at the same time.
Now, in view of what had happened, her ladyship, ever impulsive, was all for going there and then to her husband to confess the whole truth, without pausing to reflect upon the consequences to others than Ned Tremayne.