"Many things," coldly. "But your wife started the game. She had doubtless her reasons——"
"Is that another insinuation? But at all events you cannot condemn the game, as you joined in it."
"I could not avoid joining in it. Was I to be the one to censure my hostess?"
"Certainly not," sternly. "No one is censuring her. And besides, as you all——" Then, as though the words are torn from him, "Where is she now?"
"In the picture-gallery, behind one of your favourite screens, with
Mr. Hescott."
"A graphic description," says he. He almost thrusts her aside, and steps quickly into the hall. Mrs. Bethune, leaning against the wall behind her, breaks into silent, terrible laughter.
At the foot of the stairs Margaret comes quickly to him. His face frightens her.
"Where are you going, Maurice?"
"Upstairs," returns he quite calmly.
"You are going to be angry with Tita," says Margaret suddenly. "I know it! And nothing is true. Nothing! What has Marian been saying to you? She"—with the very strangest little burst of passion, from Margaret, the quiet Margaret!—"she has been telling you lies!"