“Always,” assented old Stuart. “He has told me so a score of times.”
“Then more shame for him!” cried Mrs Bolter; “How dare he! No, Mr Stuart, I am not angry, and I shall not say a word; but I shall wait till my poor brother is found, and then go back to England.”
She sat down very quietly, and sat gazing through the window; while old Stuart went on taking snuff in a very liberal manner, glancing from time to time at the irate little lady, to whom Grey kept whispering and striving to bring her to reason.
This went on for a good hour, till Grey was in despair; when suddenly Mrs Bolter sprang to her feet, red now with excitement, as she pointed through the window.
“Am I to bear this?” she said, in the same whisper. “Look, Grey! Look, Mr Stuart! You see! He is coming home, and he is bringing this woman with him!”
Grey started, for there indeed was the doctor, leading a closely-veiled Malay lady, apparently walking slowly and leaning heavily upon his arm.
Old Stuart took another pinch of snuff, and made a good deal of noise over it, as a cynical smile began to dawn upon his face; and he watched little Mrs Bolter, who drew herself up and stood with one hand resting upon the back of a chair.
“What can I say to her?” murmured Grey to herself. Then softly to Mrs Bolter:
“Pray listen to him: it is only some mistake.”
“Yes, my dear, I will listen,” said Mrs Bolter, calmly; and then she drew a long catching breath, and her eyes half-closed.