“I don’t know. I saw his face, poor fellow, and it looked dreadful, and I have just seen Mr Glyddyr. I went to the dining-room to see if you were there. He looks ghastly, and he has been drinking. For Claude’s sake, pray stay.”
“You do not know what you are saying, my dear,” said the big lawyer gently. “Mr Glyddyr is master here now. But I’m afraid you are right. He had been drinking before he came. I cannot interfere.”
“Not to protect her?”
“No, I have no right.”
“Then stop to protect me, John, dear,” she whispered.
“The law gives me no right,” he said slowly, “but if you put it in that way, why, hang the law!”
“And you will stay?”
“Yes, my dear, if I have to wring Parry Glyddyr’s neck.”
“Ah, now you are speaking like yourself,” cried Mary, drawing a breath full of relief. “I’m not a bit afraid now.”
Just then a bell rang, and Mary ran out of the room, to find Sarah Woodham anxiously awaiting her, for Claude was pacing the floor wildly, her face flushed, and the excitement from which she suffered finding vent in rapid, almost incoherent words.