The servant bowed and was turning away when Mrs. Slinker checked him. She stood in the middle of the hall, a radiant, gleaming figure, scattering the gloom of Crump like a high-held lamp, showing beside the rigid blackness of her mother-in-law like a shining lily beside a bough of yew.
“No—wait!” she said clearly, putting out her hand, and Christian, through the smoke, saw that her wedding-ring had disappeared. “I prefer to have him brought here—if you will forgive me. Do as I say, please!” and the startled footman threw a frightened glance at the older woman, and fled. For the first and last time in her life, Nettie Stone was absolute mistress of Crump, and she never forgot it.
Anthony came into the hall shyly, but with his beautiful dignity unimpaired. His hat was off, and his hand went up in salute as his tranquil eyes travelled deferentially round the circle. Christian nodded cordially through his screen of smoke, and Rishwald, though deeply annoyed by the interruption, acknowledged his greeting with a stiff bend of the head; but Mrs. Lyndesay merely stared at him in cold surprise, and the quick blood rushed to his tanned face as he realised her resentment at his presence.
“I’m sorry if I’m intruding, ma’am,” he said quietly. “I’m here by order. Mrs. Stanley sent me word she had something to ask me.” And Slinker’s wife, her face all laughter and tears, walked up to him and said—“That’s so, Anthony! Will you marry me?” and laid her hands on his breast.
In the mighty pause that followed they were still as stone, spectators as well as actors in the swift little scene; and then came a soft, final sound—the closing of the library door. Even Rishwald saw clear at that moment, and he knew that he had lost. There was one thing at least Whyterigg would never take from Crump.
Mrs. Lyndesay stood up and reached for the bell, but Christian slid his fingers over the ivory knob before she could press it.
“Leave that, Mother!” he said with gentle force. “This matter is for ourselves only. I’ll not have Anthony turned like a dog from Crump.” He dropped his hand and stood up beside her, staring at the still, concentrated figures, conscious only of themselves.
“Turn them out!” Mrs. Lyndesay said in a low, harsh voice, and suddenly she began to shake like a leaf in the wind of her wounded pride. “Turn them both out—the woman as well—the low-born thing that in my folly I raised to our level! She shows her breeding at last, insulting us under our very roof. Turn them out! If William Lyndesay were alive, he would have them whipped from the door!”
The fierce words reached the culprit, and Slinker’s wife dropped her hands and turned towards the furious voice, paling a little, though her eyes were full of soft light.
“I’m sorry,” she said gently, “but I had to do it—it was the only way to make Anthony believe I cared. Yes, turn me out—please turn me out—quick!—and then—he’ll take me in!”