“My dear, your whole behaviour is incomprehensible,” she said. “Mr. Villars is quite right. The matter should be investigated. Who, and in what condition, is the man under that woman’s cloak? It is our duty to elucidate the matter. Where is Mr. Herrick?”
“And for that matter, where is Colonel Harcourt?” sneered Mr. Villars.
“You shall not dare!” screamed Lady Lochore. She arrested a retrograde movement on either side with violently extended arms. “Out—back to your rooms, all of you! Are you devils, that you should want to gloat—”
Margery laid her left hand warningly on her elbow, and Lady Lochore broke off abruptly. What had she said? She had no idea herself. She could have flung herself on her face and shrieked aloud. The fearful deed was done! There could now be no more doubt. The brand of Cain was on her brow! Her death-sweat would not wash it off! It was burnt into the very bone!
She had thrust her guests into the passage with as little ceremony as Lady Macbeth dismissing the feasters. When the door of Ellinor’s outer room was closed between them and that something with Sir David’s signet-ring, the clutch at her heart relaxed a little and she could draw her breath with more ease. A sort of apathy began to creep over her. Margery was speaking and she could listen:
“Her ladyship being so delicate, it is quite natural she should be upset. It is her ladyship’s way to act on impulse. But to find such doings under her ladyship’s own roof, so to speak, and the person a close relation of the family! Mistress Marvel is a very clever lady, and whether the gentleman were drunk or asleep—” she looked up a second swiftly at Lady Lochore, and resumed the soothing trickle of speech, “her ladyship is quite right. So long as she knows how she stands with regard to Mrs. Marvel, there had better be no open scandal, such as leads,” said Margery piously, “to gentlemen’s duels and the like.”
There now came a patter of feet, a flutter of soft garments, a sobbing, uplifted voice—
“What was it? Which of them was it?”
“Priscilla!” Mrs. Geary caught her daughter’s wrist and the girl gave a cry of pain. “Disobedient child, back to your room!”
Priscilla whimpered and writhed; but the lady maintained her firm grasp and, with dignity accepting a candle from Margery’s candelabra, turned and marched the truant down the passage that led to her apartments.