She saw nothing more, heard nothing more.
She rushed down the stairs, tore back the bolt of the garden door, sprang down the terrace steps, and flew like mad across the lawn to the bailiff's lodge.
What did she care whether anyone saw her or not? At this moment she minded nothing. She didn't so much as knock at his door, but opened it with a vigour that sent it swinging against the wall. A hateful, pungent smell like the interior of a menagerie greeted her nostrils. He was still at the window, and bounded up when he saw her.
The grey daylight shone on the top of his head.
"He's got his hair cut like a clothes-brush again," she thought. "The fast life he's now leading requires that it should be so. He must look a swell."
"Lord in heaven!" he said, crumbling his lighted cigarette between his fingers. "This is a pretty rumpus."
"Why--why have you----?" she shrieked incoherently. "Oh, you blackguard! you dishonourable scoundrel!"
"Damn it!" he said, looking round him in despair, "I don't see how the gracious baroness is to get out of this without compromising herself."
"I don't care! You have broken your word; you have thrown away what was sacred between us--thrown it to a low barmaid ... a barmaid, a person who would hang round the neck of any man who gave her twopence ... You are a miserable wretch, not worth trying to save ... You won't be saved ... You insist on going to the dogs as fast as you can ..."
"That's all well and good," he said, "and you may be stating very deplorable and indisputable facts; but what I should like to know, dear baroness, is how you mean to save yourself?"