“Yourself? You, Godfrey?” she inquired, looking up at him with startled eyes. “But that was the night on which we were at the theatre together?”
“Yes, dear, the same night,” he answered. “Perhaps it would be better if I were to tell you the whole story.”
“Tell me nothing more than you wish,” she said. “I am content to trust you in everything. If I did not, my love would scarcely be worth having, would it?”
And then he told her of his association with the unhappy woman; told her of Teresina’s sorrow, and of his own desire to assist her. Molly’s heart was touched as she listened.
“You were right,” she said, “to try and help her, poor girl! If I had known, I would have endeavoured to have done something for her for your sake. Now, unhappily, it is too late. But you must not think too much of it, Godfrey dear. Try to put it away from you, if only for a time.”
At this moment Victor Fensden entered the room. It was plain that he had recovered his former spirits. He apologized in an easy fashion for his weakness of the afternoon, and ascribed it to his recent travels, which, he said, had proved too much for his enfeebled constitution.
“I am not like Godfrey, Miss Devereux,” he said. “He seems capable of bearing any amount of fatigue, plays cricket and football, tennis and golf, while on a summer’s day I sometimes find it impossible even to lift my head.”
It was a sad little party that sat down to dinner that evening. Godfrey was in the lowest spirits, and Molly was quiet in consequence. Fensden was accepted, on his own showing, for an invalid, Mrs. Henderson was naturally of a silent disposition, while Kitty, finding that her efforts were unappreciated, lapsed into silence after a time, and thus added to the general gloom. After dinner there were music and polite conversation in the drawing-room until ten o’clock, followed by a retirement to the billiard-room for a game at pool. It did not prove a success, however. No one had any heart for the game, and before the first three lives had been lost it was voted failure, and the cues were accordingly replaced in the rack. The memory of two white hands, tightly clinched in despair, rose continually before every eye, and when, at half-past ten, Mrs. Henderson proposed that they should retire for the night, every one accepted the situation with a feeling that was very near akin to relief.
The next day was scarcely better. For the first time since he had been master of the house Godfrey rose early on a Sunday morning, and, having ordered his dog-cart, drove into the village. It was scarcely seven o’clock when he reached the police-station to discover that the head constable had not yet risen from his bed. He waited in the small office while the other dressed, finding what consolation he could in a case above the chimney-piece in which several sets of manacles were displayed. The constable in charge was plainly overwhelmed by the squire’s presence, and to cover his confusion poked the fire almost continuously. At last, after what seemed like an hour, Griffin put in an appearance, and with many apologies invited Godfrey to accompany him to his own private sanctum where breakfast was being laid.