Morelli laughed. “Oh well, I expect she’s out with Minns somewhere—walking, I suppose. They’re often late; but we’ll wait supper a little if you don’t mind. We’ll give them ten minutes. Well, how’s young Gale?”
Seeing him like this, it was almost impossible to reconcile him with all the absurdly uncouth ideas that Maradick had had of him. But the uncanny feeling of there being some one outside the door was still with him; he had a foolish impulse to ask Morelli to open it.
Then he leant across the table and looked Morelli in the face.
“That’s what I came to tell you. Young Gale has gone.”
“Gone? What, with his people? I’m sorry. I liked him.”
“No. Not with his people. He was married to your daughter at two o’clock this afternoon. They have gone to London.”
There was absolute silence. Morelli didn’t move. He was sitting now on the opposite side of the table facing Maradick.
“My daughter has gone to London with Gale?” he said very slowly. The smile had died away from his face and his eyes were filled with tears.
“Yes. They were married to-day. They have gone to London.”
“Janet!” He called her name softly as though she were in the next room. “Janet!” He waited as though he expected an answer, and then suddenly he burst into tears. His head fell forward between his arms on to the table; his shoulders shook.