"Where is your mistress, then?"
"In her dressing-room, Sir Chetsom."
Without saying another word, Sir Chetsom, to the horror of the maid, recovered the speed of his youth to ascend the stairs, and to rush into the dressing-room. On all ordinary occasions he preserved les convenances with great punctilio; but he was at this moment in an exasperation of jealousy, and only thought of clearing up his doubts. Cecil's exit, and Hester's absence, were alone startling circumstances; but when to these be added the jealousy which for a long time Sir Chetsom had felt towards Cecil, his exasperation may be conceived.
He found Hester extended on a couch, bathed in tears. She rose angrily at his approach, and with a gesture of great dignity pointed to the door. As he seemed noways disposed to obey her, she said,—
"I would be alone .... alone, Sir Chetsom."
"My dear Hester, what is all this? In tears! what has distressed you?"
Her only answer was to pass into her bedroom, and lock herself in.
Sir Chetsom felt foolish. He tapped at the door; but she gave no answer.
He threatened to break it open; but she remained silent.
He then began to wheedle and entreat, to threaten, to promise, to storm, and to implore, alternately. All in vain: not a word could he extort from her.