Venetia had not changed that evening, she was still in her big hat. She ignored Jones, and, standing, spoke tersely to Teresa.
“Yes,” replied the other. “I have come back here, d’you mind?”
“I?” said Venetia. “It’s not a question of my minding in the least, only it was sudden, and as you left no word as to where you were going we thought it best to make sure you were all right.”
She took her seat uncomfortably on a chair and the Countess of Rochester perched herself again by Jones.
“Yes, I am all right,” said she, with her hand resting on his shoulder.
Venetia gulped.
“I am glad to know it,” she said. “We tried to make you comfortable—I cannot deny that mother feels slightly hurt at having no word from you before leaving, and one must admit that it cannot but seem strange to the servants your going like that—but of course that is entirely a question of taste.”
“You mean,” said Teresa, “that it was bad taste on my part—well, I apologise. I am sorry, but the sudden craving to get—back here was more than I could resist. I would have written to-night.”
“Oh, it does not matter,” said Venetia, “the thing is done. Well, I must be going—but have you both thought over the future and all that it implies?”