‘Now!’ said Caroline. ‘Now they’re coming. We’ll be most awfully nice to him, won’t we. Now he’s sorry and he’s owned up.’
‘Of course,’ said Charles. ‘Do you think I could ask him to let me have the wax image of him to keep in memorio?’
‘No,’ said Caroline, ‘of course you couldn’t. Hush! for goodness’ sake, hush!’
But there seemed to be no urgent need for hushing. The footsteps and the voices went past the dining-room towards the front door, which was at the side, as you know. No one listened, yet no one could help hearing, through the open window, the parting words of Rupert and the Murdstone man:
‘I’ll do it now. That’ll be the last. Thank you, sir. Good-bye!’
Then came the sound of retreating boots on gravel. The front door banged, and next moment Rupert came in. His eyes were very bright and his face very pale. He came in, shut the door, leaned against it, and seemed to swallow nothing, twice. Then he said, looking straight in front of him, and Charlotte noticed that his hands were clenched:
‘Look here, I’ve got something to tell you. I don’t suppose you’ll want to speak to me again after it.’
‘Yes, we shall,’ said Charles, ‘whatever it is.’
Rupert took no notice. He went on, after a moment’s silence:
‘I told a lie about Mr. Macpherson, a beastly lie. He didn’t hit me like I said he did. I didn’t mean to say it, I just said it, and then I couldn’t take it back. I’ve been most awfully wretched. That’s all.’