Mildred frowned.
"She, perhaps, is with Maud," she said. "I have not seen Maud all the evening."
The others had dispersed to their rooms, and while Mildred rustled down the passage to go to Maud, Jack remained where he was, in the doorway of Marie's room, which communicated with his. Suddenly in the hall below he saw a light, and to his annoyance observed Mildred's husband shuffling along in his slippers. He came to the bottom of the stairs, and slowly began to ascend. Simultaneously he heard the rustle of Mildred's dress returning. He beckoned her silently into Marie's room, and closed the door softly.
"Well?" he said.
"Maud is not there, either," she whispered.
"Are they out, do you think, in the garden?" said he. "Wait; she may be in my room."
He went to the door communicating and opened it. On the table was lying a note addressed to him; he took it up and read it. "Mildred!" he called out, and she appeared in the doorway. "I have found this," he said, and handed it to her.
Then whatever there was of good in the strong and brutal part of the woman came out. She read it without a tremor, and faced him again.
"That is the worst of having scenes out of doors," she said. "What next, Jack?"
He put down his candle; his hand was not so steady as hers.