There was an awkward and appalled silence. Little did the man suspect the kind of blow that his statement contained.
Joan darted an agonized look at Martin.
"But Mr. Palgrave is at 'ome, miss."
And that galvanized the boy into action. He had met Gilbert Palgrave out hunting. He had seen the impertinent, cocksure way in which he ran his eyes over women. He clutched the handle of the case and said: "That's all right, thanks. Miss Ludlow will write to Mrs. Palgrave." Then he turned and went down the steps to the car.
Trying to look unconcerned, Joan followed.
"Get in, quick," said Martin. "We'll talk as we go."
"But why? If I don't stay here, where am I to stay?"
"I don't know. Please get in."
Joan stood firm. The color had come back to her face, and a look of something like anger had taken the place of fright. "I didn't tell you to march off like that. Gilbert's here."
"That's why we're going," Said Martin.