But Fordham only smiled—the same cruel, satanic smile, which consisted of little else than the droop of the corners of his mouth. He was enjoying the other’s anguished suspense—gloating over these mental writhings—as he had come there intending to do. But before he could frame an answer, an interruption occurred. The door opened suddenly, and there entered no less a personage than Lady Orlebar.
The fact was, she reckoned the time had come for her to bear her share in the interview. There should be no mysteries apart from her cognisance in that house, while she was in it. So allowing sufficient time to float them into the swing of the discussion, she had swooped down upon them, suddenly, decisively, as was her wont. But disappointment awaited. Beyond a stiff bow, Fordham’s attitude underwent no change—nor did he utter a single word. He stood, unmistakably, ostentatiously, waiting for her to go out again.
But this she had no intention of doing. One glance at her husband satisfied her that a stronger spirit was needed to cope with the man before her.
“Sir Francis has not been very well lately,” she began, looking at Fordham. “He is anything but strong, and this news about his son has sadly upset him.”
It was Fordham’s turn to look astonished. To what news did she allude? He himself had certainly not imparted any—not yet.
“Of course it is a very tiresome and disconcerting thing,” she went on, “although likely to prove all sheet-and-turnip—for one can hardly believe it genuine or likely to stand the test of a court of law.”
“I hope you may not be mistaken in that last surmise,” remarked Fordham grimly, and in a tone which implied that he very much hoped she might. They were at cross purposes.
“Well, it’s an annoying thing, anyway. Who are these Glovers, Mr Fordham, and how did Philip manage to get into their clutches? Of course you know they have brought an action for breach of promise against him?”
“I didn’t. I know, however, that they threatened to. In fact, I was instrumental in rescuing him from their clutches. They are an underbred lot, anyway.”
“I thought so?” cried Lady Orlebar eagerly, while Sir Francis started, and stared bewildered at his visitor. If the latter had stood Philip’s friend in this affair surely he had no intention of injuring him. But this world is one of cruel contrasts.