Just then the door opened, and Thisbe appeared.
“There’s a gentleman to see you, sir—that Mr Crellock.”
“Show him in my study, and I’ll come.”
Thisbe disappeared, and Millicent laid her hand upon her husband’s arm.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly. “I know how to deal with him now. Only trust me, and all shall be well.”
“I do trust you,” said Millicent, and she sat there with a face like marble, listening to her husband’s step across the hall, and then sat patiently for hours, during which time the bell had been rung for the spirit stand and hot water, while the fumes of tobacco stole into the room.
At last there were voices and steps in the hall; the front door was opened and closed, and as Millicent Hallam awoke to the fact that she had not been up to see her child since she went to bed, and that it was nearly midnight, Hallam entered the room, looking more cheerful, and crossing to her he took her in his arms.
“Things are looking brighter,” he said. “We have only to wait. Now, mind this—don’t ask questions—it is better that I should not go to the bank for a few days. I am unwell.”
Millicent looked at him hard. Certainly his eyes were sunken, and for answer, as she told herself that he must have suffered much, she bowed her head.