"You are not going?" he heard her say.
"Yes."
She had reached the last step by this time, and stood with her hand resting upon the balustrade, and she was paler than she had been before.
"I—" she began—"I wanted to talk to you. What is it, Larry?"
Tredennis had never heard her call him by his first name before; and he felt, with a keenness which startled him, the soft naturalness with which it fell from her lips.
Arbuthnot's voice itself had altered when he answered her.
"It is nothing," he said, "but that I am not exactly in a presentable humor, and I want to go and conceal myself. It is the best thing I can do. Good-night."
He held out his hand, touched hers lightly, and then turned away, and the door opened and closed after him, and Bertha came into the parlor, moving slowly, as if she felt tired.