She led the way, and Mannering followed. As the maid closed the door behind them Mannering felt his breath quicken—his sense of depression grew stronger. He seemed threatened by some new and intangible danger. He stood on the hearthrug while she bent over the switch and turned on the electric light in the sitting-room. Then she threw off her cloak and looked at him curiously for a moment. Her face softened.
"My dear Lawrence," she said, "has politics done this, or are you ill?"
"I am quite well," he answered. "A little tired, perhaps. I have had rather a trying day."
She rang the bell, and ordered sandwiches and wine.
"You look like a corpse," she said, and stood over him while he ate and drank. And all the time that indefinable fear within him grew. She made him smoke. Then she leaned back in an easy-chair and looked across at him.
"You had something to say to me. What was it?"
"Nothing good," he answered. "I have quarrelled with my party, and I have to resign my seat in the House."
"Already?"
"Already! I am sorry, as of course in a few months' time I should have been in office, and drawing a considerable salary. As it is—" he hesitated.
"Oh, I understand!" she said. "Well, it doesn't matter much. I only have the house for six months furnished, and that's paid for in advance. John must go, and the horses can be sold."