"Well, yes—just now," mumbled Harry; and he added apologetically, "She's seeing very few people just now, you know."
"As you please, of course," said Ruston, shortly. "I daresay you're right. I should like to say, Dennison, that I did not intend——." He suddenly stopped short. There was no need to rush unbidden into more falseness. "Good-bye," he said.
Harry took the offered hand in a limp grasp, but his eyes did not leave the ground. A moment later the door closed, and Ruston was alone outside—knowing that he had been turned out—in however ineffective blundering manner, yet, in fact, turned out—and by Harry Dennison. That Harry knew nothing, he hardly felt as a comfort; that perhaps he suspected hardly as a danger. He was angry and humiliated that such a thing should happen, and that he should be powerless to prevent, and without title to resent, the blow.
Looking up he caught sight dimly in the dim light of a lithe figure and a mocking face. Mrs. Cormack had regained her own house by means of the little gate, and stood leaning over the balcony smiling at him like some disguised fiend in a ballet or opera-bouffe. He heard a tinkling laugh. Had she listened? She was capable of it, and if she had, it might well be that she had caught a word or two. But perhaps his air and attitude were enough to tell the tale. She craned her neck over the parapet, and called to him.
"I hope we shall see you soon again. Of course, you'll be coming to see Maggie soon?"
"Oh, soon, I hope," he answered sturdily, and the low tinkle of laughter rang out again in answer.
Without more, he turned on his heel and walked down the street, a morose frown on his brow.
He had been gone some half-hour when, just before eight o'clock, Mrs. Dennison's victoria drove quickly up to the door. The evening was chilly and she was wearing her furs. Her face rose pale and rigid above them; and as she walked to the house, her steps dragged as though in weariness. She did not go upstairs, but knocked, almost timidly, at the door of her husband's study. Entering in obedience to his call, she found him sitting in his deep leathern arm-chair by the fire. She leant her arm on the back and stared over his head into the fire.
"Anyone been, Harry?" she asked.
He lifted his eyes with a start.