“Excellent; nobody need see you; go up to your room, and put on something dry; and I’ll have hot soup sent up to you, and tell them to light you a fire.”
Aureole bestowed on him a wan smile of gratitude, and droopingly went upstairs. Stuart gave the necessary orders; then, not caring either to join the rest of the company, or change his wet clothes, remained fidgeting restlessly about the hall. Like Bertram, he was feeling “strangely disturbed in his innards,” though from different causes. Bertram ... how diabolically the man’s eyes, in spite of the puffiness beneath, had recalled Peter’s.... “Infernal old reprobate!” muttered Stuart; “one would think he might have a sense of decency, with a grown-up daughter.”
Peter ... Stuart swore softly as he meandered from staircase to window, from dining-room door to front door.
Presently the latter opened, and Oliver Strachey walked in.
“Hullo, Nigger!”
“Hullo. Where’s my wife?”
“In her room,” replied Stuart, with deep inner thankfulness that this should be so.
“Which room?” Oliver prepared to mount.
“First floor, second on the left. And go easy; she’s a bit nervous to-night; I took her for a sail, and it upset her.”