“Yes. With Philip. They have caught the eight train. They are to be married to-morrow. ‘Because I would not let Philip go,’ she says. But she’s mad—”
For an instant she gripped the mantelpiece behind her. She could hear them, only from a distance, as though their voices were muffled by the roar of sea or wind, their exclamations.
Her husband was, of course, useless. She despised him. He cried:
“They must be stopped! They must be stopped. This is impossible! That fellow Mark—one might have guessed! They must be stopped. At once! At once!”
“They can’t be.” She heard her voice far away with the others. “They can’t be stopped. The train left at eight o’clock, nearly half an hour ago. There’s nothing to be done.”
“But, of course,” cried George, “there’s something to be done. They must be stopped at once. I’ll go up by the next train.”
“There’s no train until six to-morrow morning—and what good would you do? They’re engaged. You gave your permission. Katherine’s of age. It is her own affair.”
They all cried out together. Their voices sounded to Mrs. Trenchard like the screams of children.
Through the confusion there came the sound of an opening door. They all turned, and saw that it was old Mr. Trenchard, assisted by Rocket.
“Why don’t you come in to dinner?” he said, in his clear, thin voice. “I went straight into the dining-room because I was late, and here you all are, and it’s nearly half-past eight.”