As Rhoda glided quietly into the hall from the garden, she stopped and tried to draw back, on seeing Sir Robert was standing at the foot of the stairs. Above him, going slowly up, was Lady Sarah with her motor-coat over her arm, and her long veil, which she had untied, dragging on the stairs behind her. There was a sort of defiance in her slow tread, but Rhoda knew that, even if she had exchanged a few words with her husband, she had not had time for a conversation.
The baronet turned on hearing Rhoda, and called to her.
“Miss Pembury!”
Rhoda would fain not have heard, but he repeated her name, and she came reluctantly forward. She guessed that her very looks must be a sort of betrayal, for she was shaking from head to foot.
“You are not well,” he said kindly, but still with some sternness in his tone.
“Oh, yes, I am, thank you.”
He touched her hand.
“You are cold.”
“Yes. I’ve—I’ve been out in the grounds.”
“Come with me to the study. I want to speak to you.”