“Take your seats, please,” said the guard. “Going by the train, sir?”
“Good-bye, Sir Charles. Give my love to Lady Brandon, and Agatha, and the dear children; and thanks so much for a very pleasant—” Here the train moved off, and Sir Charles, melting, smiled and waved his hat until he caught sight of Trefusis looking back at him with a grin which seemed, under the circumstances, so Satanic, that he stopped as if petrified in the midst of his gesticulations, and stood with his arm out like a semaphore.
The drive home restored him somewhat, but he was still full of his surprise when he rejoined Agatha, his wife, and Erskine in the drawing-room at the Beeches. The moment he entered, he said without preface, “She has gone off with Trefusis.”
Erskine, who had been reading, started up, clutching his book as if about to hurl it at someone, and cried, “Was he at the train?”
“Yes, and has gone to town by it.”
“Then,” said Erskine, flinging the book violently on the floor, “he is a scoundrel and a liar.”
“What is the matter?” said Agatha rising, whilst Jane stared open-mouthed at him.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Wylie, I forgot you. He pledged me his honor that he would not go by that train. I will.” He hurried from the room. Sir Charles rushed after him, and overtook him at the foot of the stairs.
“Where are you going? What do you want to do?”
“I will follow the train and catch it at the next station. I can do it on my bicycle.”