Mr. Comyn, having regained control over his temper, showed no sign of losing it again. “As to that, sir, I believe a word with you alone would be timely.” He looked fleetingly at Juliana, who was standing by the window, her face quite rigid. “Juliana — Miss Marling — ” he said.
She gave a shudder. “Do not speak to me!” she said. “Oh, Frederick, Frederick, how could you do it? I did not mean a word that I said! You should have known I did not! I hope I never set eyes on you again!”
Mr. Comyn turned away from her to Mary, who was trying to collect her scattered wits. “Madam, I believe nothing will serve now but frankness. But I await your pleasure.”
She got up, steadying herself with a hand on the arm of the chair. “Do what seems best to you,” she said faintly. “I must be alone a little while. I am not quite myself yet. I’ll go up to my chamber. For God’s sake, gentlemen, let there be no more fighting. I am not worth it.”
“Juliana, go with her!” said Vidal sharply.
Miss Challoner shook her head. “Please let me be alone. I don’t need Juliana, or anyone.”
“I’ll not go!” Juliana said. “If she is hurt I vow it serves her right! She stole Frederick from me by a hateful trick, and I wish her joy of him, and she shan’t have him!”
Miss Challoner gave a little laugh that broke in the middle, and went to the door. Mr. Comyn opened it for her to pass out, and what seemed to be the entire staff of the inn was disclosed in the passage. The landlord and his wife, two serving-maids, a cook, and three ostlers, were all gathered round the door, and had evidently been listening to everything that had been going on inside the parlour. They looked very sheepish upon the door being so suddenly opened, and dispersed in a hurry. Mr. Comyn said sarcastically that he was happy to be a source of so much interest, but since he spoke in English no one understood him. The landlord, who had stood his ground, began to say that so scandalous a fracas in a respectable house could not be permitted. Lord Vidal turned his head, and spoke one soft, short phrase. The landlord looked very much taken aback, excused himself, and withdrew.
Meanwhile, Miss Challoner had walked straight past the group of servants, down the passage to the coffee-room, out of which the stairs rose to the upper floor. She entered it, holding her torn dress together, in time to hear a jovial voice say in English: “Burn it, the place is deserted! Hey, there! House!”
Miss Challoner looked quickly towards the door. A tall, rakish man of middle age was standing there, his Rockelaure thrown open to display a rich suit of purple cloth with gold lacing, and a fine flowered waistcoat. He did not perceive Miss Challoner, and conscious of her dishevelled appearance, she drew back into the ill-lit passage. The landlord, hearing the shout, came hurrying past her, and was greeted by a fluent demand to know what the devil ailed the place that there wasn’t so much as a groom to be seen.