“But Nell, David, Nell. . . . Don’t you see what this means to her? You’re letting her down most frightfully. Why, man, it’ll break her heart. If it wasn’t for Nell, I wouldn’t care a kick. We’ld have a straight talk, and after a month——”
“Month?” echoed David, with a bitter laugh. “Shows how much you understand. ‘After a month.’ . . . Good God, Madge, this isn’t an evening out. I’m finished . . . bent . . . broken. . . . You’ve shown me the precious fountain. I’ve drunk its water out of your blessed palms. I’ve drunk—drunk, my lady. . . . And you only drink once. I’m badged—branded, Madge, branded as your man. With me you stand for womanhood. Your smile, your voice, your hair, the light in your wonderful eyes——”
“Oh, stop, stop,” wailed Madge. “How can you talk like this? You know it’s not the game. You know you’re wronging Nell . . . and Crispin . . . and me. If I’ve given you cause, God knows I never meant it. If . . .”
Her voice broke, and she began to weep silently.
Herrick set his teeth.
“We’re nearly home,” he said. “Shall I tell him to drive round the Park?”
“Yes—no—yes,” sobbed Mrs. Willoughby. “And—please don’t talk any more.”
David gave the order and flung himself back in his seat. Presently with a shaking hand he lighted a cigarette. . . .
By the time they were back at Park Place, Madge was reasonably composed.
She descended quickly, waved her hand, and let herself in with a rush.