“Yes, yes! why don’t you speak?” cried Lady Millet piteously. “Oh, Frank dear, what news? Have you seen Gertrude?”
“No,” he said thickly. “I want Renée.”
“Where is she? Speak, I conjure you!” cried her ladyship.
“Don’t know,” said Morrison, glancing round. “Haven’t been home for days. Went home this afternoon. Had some words and came away again.”
“Well, well, go on! I saw you playing billiards at the club.”
“Yes,” said Morrison, whose brain was clouded with days of excess. “Went home again just now. Going to make it up, and she’d gone. Where is she? Want her directly.”
Dick stood thinking for a few moments, while her ladyship looked at him as if imploring him to speak.
“She’s in it, p’raps,” he said. “Look here, Frank, can you understand me, or have you got D.T. too bad?”
“Yes, I understand,” said the young man thickly.
“Gertrude’s gone away. We think your wife must be in the plot.”