‘What right has she to make the change at a moment’s notice?’ vociferated the father, his voice suddenly recovering its old power, his cheeks and neck suffused with red wrath. ‘And hopes she will find me better. What does she care whether she finds me alive or dead?’
‘Oh, don’t say that! You wouldn’t let her know that you were worse.’
‘What does it mean? I hate this deceitful behaviour! She knew before, of course she knew; and she left it to the last moment, so that I couldn’t write and prevent her from staying. As if I should have wished to! As if I cared a brass farthing how long she stays, or, for that matter, whether I ever see her again!’
He checked the course of his furious speech, and stood staring at the letter.
‘What did you say?’ He spoke now in a hoarse undertone. ‘You thought they were going somewhere?’
‘Last year there used to be steamers that went to places on certain days—’
‘Nonsense! She wouldn’t alter all their plans for that. It’s something I am not to know—of course it is. She’s deceitful—like all women.’
He met Mary’s eye, suddenly turned upon him. His own fell before it, and without speaking again he went into the house.
In half-an-hour’s time his bell rang, and not Mary, but the young servant responded. According to her directions, she knocked at the door, and, without opening it, asked her master’s pleasure. Mr. Lord said that he was going out, and would not require a meal till late in the evening.
It was nearly ten o’clock when he returned. Mary, sitting in the front room, rose at his entrance.