Susan instantly left the room, closing the door behind her.
For nearly half a minute Quentyns was silent, a great wave of color had rushed over his face, and it was with difficulty he could keep back some annoyed and some sarcastic words. He was a man who prided himself on having great self-control, and before he uttered his first sentence he felt that he had recovered it.
"You're trembling, dear," he said gently, "and you—you absolutely look as if you were afraid of me. Come into the drawing room, love, and tell me what is wrong with Judy. My bête noire, Judy! what has been her last transgression?"
"Jasper, don't, don't," said Hilda, in a voice of pain. "Judy is really ill this time—she fainted in church on Sunday; she is in bed now, and the doctor says she is very weak."
"I suppose so, or she would not have fainted. I used constantly to faint when I was a child—the slightest thing sent me off. I was not kept in bed afterward, for children were not cockered up and fussed over when I was young. My faint was generally traced to over-eating. If you must go down to see Judy, I don't wish to prevent you, Hilda, but why go to-night?"
"Oh, Jasper, I must—I must run away this instant too, for I hear the cab—I telegraphed to say I would go."
Jasper put on a new stubborn look which Hilda had never seen before.
"I don't wish to coerce you," he said, in a cold voice, "you're perfectly free to act as you think right in the matter. I can go down with you by an early train in the morning, or you can go by yourself now, and put me to extreme inconvenience. You're at liberty to choose."
"Don't speak like that, Jasper, you pain me so dreadfully."
"I fail to see how I am paining you, I am giving you a free choice. You can be with Judy before noon to-morrow, or you can go immediately."