Mrs. Decie signalled with her fan: “We are trying to express the inexpressible—shall we go into the garden?”
All rose; Harz stood by the window, and in passing, Christian looked at him.
He sat down again with a sudden sense of loss. There was no white figure opposite now. Raising his eyes he met Sarelli's. The Italian was regarding him with a curious stare.
Herr Paul began retailing apiece of scandal he had heard that afternoon.
“Shocking affair!” he said; “I could never have believed it of her! B—-is quite beside himself. Yesterday there was a row, it seems!”
“There has been one every day for months,” muttered Dawney.
“But to leave without a word, and go no one knows where! B—-is 'viveur' no doubt, mais, mon Dieu, que voulez vous? She was always a poor, pale thing. Why! when my—-” he flourished his cigar; “I was not always—-what I should have been—-one lives in a world of flesh and blood—-we are not all angels—-que diable! But this is a very vulgar business. She goes off; leaves everything—-without a word; and B—-is very fond of her. These things are not done!” the starched bosom of his shirt seemed swollen by indignation.
Mr. Treffry, with a heavy hand on the table, eyed him sideways. Dawney said slowly:
“B—-is a beast; I'm sorry for the poor woman; but what can she do alone?”
“There is, no doubt, a man,” put in Sarelli.