"Did he go?"
"No."
And now laughter, loud and almost inextinguishable, filled the court. Every one was enjoying himself or herself enormously. There was a sort of atmosphere of French farce about the sombre court. Every one had, by now, forgotten that they had lunched and dined at the hospitable tables of Mr. and Mrs. Admaston. They were there for a show—they were out for blood—it was a bull-fight to these pleasant ladies and gentlemen.
Mr. Henry Passhe was obviously enjoying himself. He laughed as loudly as any one, until the warning "Hush!" of the usher suppressed the merriment. He looked towards his friend, but he saw that Colonel Adams's lean brown face was drawn and wrinkled up with pain. Then he himself—for he was a decent-minded man enough—felt a little ashamed of his jocularity, and he turned once more to an intent watching of this tragic spectacle.
"No doubt," Sir Robert said, "that made you more angry—yes?"
Mrs. Admaston did not answer, but Sir Robert persisted.
"Didn't it make you more angry?" he said.
Suddenly Peggy looked up, and her voice rippled with laughter—she was a butterfly, a thing of sunshine and shadow, but shadow never distressed her for very long.
"I never remain angry very long," she said.
Sir Robert took no notice of the way in which she answered. His big voice went on, tolling quietly like a distant bell.