“I might have known! It was her doing, then?”
“No, indeed it was not! Mrs Gillingham is unknown to Theresa, though she did say that she thought her quite unexceptionable — as I did myself, Sherry, for she seemed so, you know!”
“Yes, I know!” he said grimly. “Tell me the whole!”
She obediently recounted all the circumstances of her meeting with Mrs Gillingham, and while he listened his brow grew darker and darker. By the time he had been made aware of the manner in which the lady had insinuated herself into his wife’s company, of the arts she had employed to inspire Hero with confidence, and of her readiness to permit her to punt on tick, he was looking so much like a thundercloud that Hero faltered in her recital, and could only gaze imploringly at him. She saw then that there was more than anger in his face, an intent expression in his eyes, which seemed to be frowning not so much at her as at something beyond her. She ventured to say: “I have done very wrong, but I did not mean to, Sherry.”
He paid no heed; he was looking at the clock. “I am going out,” he said abruptly. “I shall be back to dine with you, however.”
“Going where, Sherry?” she asked uneasily.
“Never mind that! There is something I have to do — and I’m not dining until I’ve done it!”
“Don’t go! So angry with me — !”
“I’m not angry with you.” He put his arm round her, and hugged her. “There! You are the most troublesome brat alive, but you don’t mean to be! I ought never — However, it’s done now!” He turned her face up, and kissed her cheek. “No, don’t cry while I’m away, for there is not the least occasion for it! Besides, it don’t suit you to have red eyes, and I don’t like it. Promise?”
She nodded, rather mistily smiling, and he left the room, ran down the stairs, shrugged himself into his greatcoat, caught up his hat and cane, and let himself out of the house, striding off in a southerly direction down the street.