Mrs. Willoughby was moving restlessly about the drawing-room as he was shown in. She turned impulsively towards him, holding out both hands. 'I so hoped you would come,' she said. 'Well? You have seen him?'
'Yes.'
'What does he mean to do?' she asked anxiously, taking from a chair a copy of the Meteor.
'Nothing,' replied Fielding. 'He resigns his seat; he gives up his directorship; he is leaving England.'
Mrs. Willoughby's first look was of sheer incredulity. 'It's impossible!' she exclaimed.
'I have just returned from his chambers. He has started from Charing
Cross already.'
Mrs. Willoughby sat down in the window-seat, and her look of incredulity gradually changed to one of comprehension. 'And he took such delight in London,' she said, with a break in her voice; 'just like a schoolboy.'
Fielding nodded gloomily. 'I did my best to dissuade him,' he said. 'I practically told him he was a coward to run away. But you know the man. He had made up his mind not to face the charge. And yet I can't believe it's true.'
'Believe it!' exclaimed Mrs. Willoughby, with a hint of something dangerously near to scorn in her voice.
'I know, I know,' answered Fielding. 'Still Drake pleads guilty. He sacrifices everything, an established position, unusual prospects—everything, by pleading guilty. You see, that's the point. He has every imaginable inducement to make him face the accusation, even if he has only the merest chance of winning, and yet he runs away. He runs away—Drake does. There's only one inference—'