They stepped in quickly, and Thisbe’s lips tightened as she was forced to back before them, and the door swung to.
“Where is your mistress?” said Hallam sharply.
“Asleep. Worn out and ill.”
“Where’s my daughter?”
“With her mother: upstairs.”
“I’ll soon have an end of this fooling,” he exclaimed; and as Thisbe stood with her arms folded, she seemed to see a flash of the old look she remembered—the look she hated—when they were at Castor years before.
Hallam threw open the door at the foot of the narrow staircase, while Crellock seated himself astride a chair with his hat on and beat his boot with his whip.
“Millicent! Julie!” cried Hallam fiercely, and there were footsteps heard above, for the arrival had awakened those who slept. “Come down at once.”
He let the door swing to and began to pace the little room, muttering to himself, and evidently furious with rage at his wife’s desertion.
Crellock watched him from the corner of his eyes, and from time to time unconsciously applied his hand to a great discolouration on the cheek. He was evidently quite satisfied, for Hallam needed no egging on to the task, and he felt that this episode would hasten his marriage.