CHAPTER IV.
Mr. Marrapit Takes A Nice Warm Bath.
I.
As Mr. Marrapit had said, the disaster of the night had sped his complaint.
He appeared at breakfast. No word was spoken. He ate nothing.
Once only gave he sign of interest. Midway through the meal muffled sounds came to the breakfast party. Scufflings in the hall struck an attentive light in Mr. Marrapit's eyes; slam of the front door jerked him in his seat; wheels, hoofs along the drive drew his gaze to the window. A cab rolled past—a melancholy horse; a stout driver, legs set over a corded box; a black figure, bolt upright, handkerchief to eyes.
The vision passed. Mr. Marrapit gazed upwards; his thin lips moved.
Vulgar curiosity shall not tempt us to pry into the demeanour with which, an hour earlier, this man had borne himself in the study with Mrs. Major. Of that unhappy woman's moans, of her explanations, of the tears that poured from her eyes—bloodshot in a head most devilishly racked by Old Tom—we shall not speak.