"Colling! Colling!" she cried. "George is here!" She hurried up to Collingwood, looking for a moment rather strangely at Alice Attwill.
George Admaston, big, burly, and with all the weariness of the past weeks sponged and smoothed from his face, followed her into the drawing-room.
"Hullo, Colling," he said rather shyly, but with real geniality in his voice.
Collingwood ignored the outstretched hand. "Wait first, please," he said. "Lady Attwill has written you another copy of the letter she wrote three days ago." He handed the confession to Admaston.
There was a dead silence in the room as Admaston scrutinised the confession.
Then he went up to Lady Attwill, crouching over the table as she was, and put his hand not unkindly on her shoulder. "Good God!" he said. "Alice—why did you?"
A lovely tear-stained face looked up into the room.
A broken and unhappy voice sobbed out into the silence, "Let me go; let me go, I say!"
Admaston gently removed his hand. There was a swish of skirts, one deep sob, and then the door closed behind Alice Attwill.
Peggy went up to her husband and clung lovingly to his arm.