Meanwhile, John Thorpe was absorbed in profound thought, and oblivious of his surroundings, said to himself: “What can his lordship mean? Corway’s persistent attention to my wife! Was that mere accidental gossip? He shall explain!” And he looked fixedly at Rutley.
It was at that moment that Mrs. Harris, having reached his side, said: “Your arm, Thorpe. Dear me!” And she started back at seeing his gloomy face. “Why, I declare, the frowning ‘Ajax’ could not look more unsociable.”
For a moment Thorpe displayed confusion, but by a strong effort subdued his agitation and offered his arm. “Of late,” he explained, “my nervous system has been subject to momentary shocks.” Leading her toward the piazza, “I beg your pardon.”
“I am afraid that unless you provide yourself with a mask for such occasions the shock is likely to become contagious,” she remarked, as they passed up the steps.
Meanwhile Rutley, having removed the monocle from his eye, allowed his frigidity to dissolve, and, slowly stepping a few paces toward the east end of the house, paused under the shadow of a magnolia, and at once seemed to plunge in deep reflection, to be startled a few moments later by hearing Virginia close to him, in a low tone, saying: “How does my lord propose to resent that insult?”
Seeing him alone, she had noiselessly and unperceived, stolen to his side, convinced by what she had just discovered, that he was meditating some sort of revenge on Corway, and she determined to ascertain its nature.
Her fertile brain had already conceived Rutley her ally, and it was with no uncertain or wavering purpose that she approached him with a question pregnant with sinister import.
Rutley looked at her steadily, as though trying to penetrate her motive, then, without moving his eyes from hers, said deliberately: “Well, if he doesn’t apologize, my friend will call on him.”
“You mean a shooting affair?”
“I do not say, but I understand that is a popular way in this country to avenge an outrage.”