"Here." He held up the hand-bag.
"That all?"
"Yes, that's all," said Jack with a propitiatory smile. "I didn't see the good of bringing much." He paused and then added, "I haven't got much, you know." Another pause followed. "I hope that—that Miss Pinsent's all right?" he ended.
"Yes, she's all right. Come along." Then he asked abruptly, "Hurt your hand?"
Jack raised his hand and looked at it. "I got it burnt," he said. "We were making a night of it, and some fool made the poker hot—we had an open fire—and I didn't see it was hot and laid hold of it." He looked at his companion's face, which wore a grim smile. "Of course I shouldn't have done it if I hadn't had a drop too much," he added, smiling.
"Good God!" groaned Ashley to himself as he led the way. Wouldn't anything, the burly ruffian, the crafty schemer, or even the coarse lover, have been better than this? Any of them might have ranked as a man, any of them might have laid a grasp on Ora and ruled her life to some pattern. But what could or should this poor creature do? Why, he had come at her bidding, and now was afraid to meet her!
"Has she talked about me?" Jack asked timidly.
"Yes, a lot," said Ashley. He looked over his shoulder and sent a very direct glance into his companion's eyes. "She's told me all about it, or nearly all," he added. Jack looked ashamed and acutely distressed. Ashley felt sorry for him and cursed himself for the feeling. "You'll get along better now, I hope," he said, looking away. Then he smiled; it had occurred to him to wonder what all the folk who were so interested in the coming of Mr. Fenning would make of this Mr. Fenning who had come. For an embodiment of respectability, of regularity of life, and of the stability of the conjugal relation, this creature was so—there seemed but one word—so flabby.
"Is Janet still with Miss Pinsent?" asked Jack. It was evident that he hesitated as to what he ought to call his wife. There was a little pause before he pronounced her name.