On glancing at his watch Prelice learned that it was half-past five, and concluded that probably Mrs. Rover would be at home sipping tea, after the manner of women, worn out with shopping. He decided to give her half-an-hour, and then catch the seven train from Charing Cross to Hythe. Come what might, the young man intended to get back to Hythe that night in order to walk over and see Mona. He assured himself that she would be anxious, and would wish to learn how he had sped. But he might as well have confessed the truth to himself—namely, that he pined hungrily for a sight of her face, and that every moment passed away from her side was spent in the outer darkness. "Where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth," said Prelice to himself, quite ready to wail and gnash if he missed his train.
As fate would have it, Mrs. Rover was at home, and came forward to greet her friend in a wonderful tea-gown, which suited her queenly figure. The rose-hued blinds were down, and the room looked like the grotto of the Venusberg; but in spite of these softening aids, Mrs. Rover appeared somewhat haggard. Nor was her greeting of Prelice very friendly. Indeed, it was so harsh that he congratulated himself on finding her alone. But then had anyone else been present, she would have been all smiles and gentle words.
"How dare you come and see me after leaving as you did last time," was Mrs. Rover's polite salutation; "and I know why you went too. Yes, you may look and look, Lord Prelice, but I know. I explained your conduct to Ned, and he told me how he had described the dress to you."
"Which means!" asked Prelice calmly and unflinchingly.
"Means!" she cried in stormy tones. "It means that you believed me to be the woman who came in and waved the bronze cup under Ned's nose."
"I did believe it for one minute," confessed her friend, making a clean breast of it in view of what was coming, "but, of course, on reflection I saw how ridiculous it was to suspect you."
"It was—it was—it was!" retorted Mrs. Rover, sitting down and tapping her foot. "I have not many friends, Lord Prelice, but I did think that Dorry was one of them."
"Dorry is," he assured her.
"A fair-weather friend. Pooh! To suspect Me," she went on angrily. "Me of all people. As if I would have hurt Ned. Had it been that Chent girl, you might have had some cause."
"Speak gently about Miss Chent," said Prelice quietly.