He would go up to London by the midday train, give instructions to the lawyers to transfer back to Esmeralda the money Belfayre had received at his marriage, and then he would leave England as quickly as possible, and—forever.
His valet noticed that he looked white and ill, and he decided that he would not tell him about the telegram and Lord Norman’s departure until after he had had his breakfast, for the man was fond of his master, and considerate.
Trafford went down-stairs. As he descended, he thought of Norman: he had to deal with him before he left. In the hall stood Lady Ada. She looked at him, and her lips moved, but she said nothing; and he stood a little away from her, his eyes fixed upon something above her head, as if he scarcely saw her.
“I want Norman,” he said.
“Norman!” she repeated, dully.
“Yes,” he said, with a touch of impatience. “Is he down yet?”
She trembled; she was face to face with a terrible situation.
“Norman has—has gone!” she faltered.
He moved slightly and his teeth set.