“He’s sailing.”
“I know. Next week.”
“No—Saturday.”
Richmond startled. “Day after to-morrow?”
“And he wouldn’t come either to-night or to-morrow night.”
They walked in silence side by side into the house.
“He’s a splendidly handsome man,” said Mrs. Richmond. “Any woman would be proud to have him as her husband. And he has the air of a personage.... I must telephone Beatrice.”
“You must do nothing of the sort,” ordered Richmond in the tone which, when he first had begun to use it with her, had made her feel like a servant. “You’ll not tempt her to make a public fool of herself.”
“You don’t understand her,” protested Mrs. Richmond.
“No matter. No telephoning. Small, timid people never can understand that a person of her sort has unlimited capacity for reckless folly.”