Lady Pelham left the room without touching Mrs. Pelham’s hand.
She went into the street. Her eyes were bright; she held herself erect; she did not look like a woman stricken down. Now was the time to act. Once or twice as she hurried along in the direction of Harley Street she even laughed to herself. She soon reached Dr. Tarbot’s house and rang the bell.
“Is Dr. Tarbot in?” she asked of the servant.
“Yes, ma’am. What name shall I say?”
“Lady Pelham. I wish to speak to him immediately.”
The man stared at her with undoubted curiosity—curiosity so great that even the mask which he was, as a servant, obliged to wear was slightly lifted. He showed Barbara into the waiting-room and went to inform his master. In an instant he came back, threw open the door for Lady Pelham, said that Dr. Tarbot would see her, and took her into the consulting-room.
Tarbot came eagerly forward—his face very white and very thin, his lips parted. Barbara went straight up to him.
“I have just seen Mrs. Pelham,” she said, “and she has told me everything. So you are in this—you came down to Pelham Towers for the purpose of putting suspicion into Mrs. Pelham’s mind. You have caused my husband to be arrested on this most false charge.”
“There is no use in taking matters in that spirit, Lady Pelham,” said Tarbot. “The magistrate who this morning examined your husband with extreme care and justice does not agree with you in calling the charge false.”
“It is a trumped-up charge against one of the best men God ever made,” said Barbara.