Vidal carefully removed his lace ruffle from her clutching fingers. “Quarrelled with Comyn, have you? You’re a fool, Ju. Stop crying! Has he gone off? Shall I bring him back to you?”
Miss Marling declined this offer with every evidence of loathing, and releasing his lordship, hunted under her pillow for a handkerchief, and fiercely blew her small nose.
“I wonder ...” Vidal stopped, and sat staring at the bedpost somewhat ominously.
Observing the darkling look in his eyes, Juliana said quickly: “What do you wonder? Please do not put on that murderous face, Dominic! It frightens me.”
He glanced down at her. “I wonder whether Mr. Frederick Comyn has anything to do with Mary’s disappearance?” he said.
“What a stupid notion!” commented Juliana. “Why in the world should he help Mary to escape?”
“From damned officiousness, belike,” said Vidal, scowling. “I found the fellow here last night — mighty friendly with Mary.”
“What!” Miss Marling stiffened. “Here? With Mary? What was he doing?”
“Holding her hands, curse his impudence.”
“ Oh!” Miss Marling turned quite pale with indignation. “The wicked, deceitful creature! She never breathed a word of it to me! And then to dare to scold me for quarrelling with Frederick! Oh, I could kill them both! Holding her hands at that hour of night! And then to turn jealous because I like to dance with Bertrand! Oh, it beats anything I have ever heard! I’ll never forgive either of them.”