"She has gone back to bed," Matthias explained pleasantly. "I didn't like to think of you waiting out there, all alone."
Marbridge choked on a retort, turned and began slowly to mount the stairs.
"Oh—going? Half a minute."
The man paused, and in silence looked down.
"I just happened to think perhaps you haven't a time-table in your room," said Matthias amiably. "There are several early trains tomorrow, you know. I fancy the eight-seven would suit you as well as any."
He got no answer other than a grunt. Marbridge resumed his deliberate ascent, gained the upper floor, and disappeared.
"Good night!" Matthias called after him, softly; and turned out the light.
X
Monday afternoon found Mr. Matthias back at his desk and in a tolerably unhappy temper, tormented not only by that conscience-stricken sensation of secret guilt inseparable from a return to neglected work, but also by a less reasonable, in fact inexplicable (to him) feeling of discomfort; as though he were a trespasser upon the premises rather than their lawful tenant.