“Oh, yes,” she returned. “He was to have brought me here, but he was sent for, I couldn't quite understand by whom. But he said he should not be long after me.”
“Nor has he,” interposed Mrs. Bechcombe at this juncture. “He is coming up the steps now with John Steadman.”
Mrs. Phillimore's relief was apparent in her countenance. Anthony felt a touch of momentary wonder as to why his cousin's temporary absence should cause her so much apparent anxiety.
Aubrey was talking to Mr. Steadman in a quick, nervous fashion as they entered the room together.
The first glance was enough to show every one that something had seriously disturbed Aubrey Todmarsh. His face was white, his eyes were bloodshot, he was biting his lips nervously. Altogether he looked strangely unlike the enthusiastic young head of the Community of St. Philip.
Mr. Collyer was the first to speak.
“Aubrey, my dear boy, is anything the matter?”
Apparently Todmarsh only brought himself to speak with difficulty. Twice he opened his lips, but no words came. At last he said hoarsely:
“Hopkins!”
The name conveyed nothing to the majority of his hearers, only the rector of Wexbridge twisted up his face into a curious resemblance to a note of interrogation, and Mrs. Phillimore uttered a sharp little cry.