“What to do?” he muttered—“what to do? Mad? Enough to make me. Well, let them think what they please. It makes no difference now.”
He thrust his hand into his pocket and took out a key, and then shuddered; but drawing himself up, he set his teeth hard and crossed to where the easy-chair stood in which he had passed the night, wheeled it from the door, and went to the window after slipping the bolt.
His hand was on the blind, and he was in the act of drawing it down when there was a knock, and he stood as if paralysed.
“Back so soon!” he thought, and, as if recalling the scene of the previous day, when Guest insisted upon admission, he gave a sharp glance round the room, smoothed his hair, and went and opened the door.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mrs Brade, stepping in; and he involuntarily gave way. “Mr Guest asked me to come in and tidy you.”
“No, no, not to-day. I—”
“But Mr Guest said I was to, sir, and if you objected I was to tell you to be calm. It’s very glad I am to see you much better,” said the woman, going to the bedroom. “Why, you haven’t been to bed all night, sir. I don’t wonder you look pale,” she continued, re-entering and crossing the room. “Did you use your bath?”
She uttered a wild cry as Stratton rushed at her, caught her by the shoulder with a fierce grip, and swung her away.
“I tell you,” he cried, with a fierce growl, “I will not have the place touched. Go! At once!”
The woman was too much alarmed to speak, and, making for the door, hurried out, and made for the porter’s lodge, “that agitated,” as she said to herself afterward, “that she felt as if she could never go there again.”