"You forget I know all your explanations, Bel; I've heard them all too often!"
"But—but you must give me a chance! Damn it, you can't refuse——!"
"Can't I? Go home, Bel, get some sleep. When you wake up, if you still think you have anything to say—consider it carefully before you ask me to listen. Remember what I tell you now: you've lied to me for the last time, one more lie will end everything between us, finally and for all time!"
Conscious though she was that her wrath was righteous, she experienced an instant of irresolution, of yielding and pity excited by the almost dog-like appeal in his eyes. But immediately she remembered Amelie, hardened her heart and, leaving him agape, pushed through the door to the street.
And instantly she effected one of those shifts of which few but the sensitive know the secret, who must hide their hurts from alien eyes though they spend all their strength in the effort; instantly she sloughed every sign of her anger and with smiling face went to rejoin Fanny and Dobbin.
As soon as she appeared the latter jumped out of the car and offered his hand. He said something in a jocular vein, and Lucinda must have replied to the point, for she heard him chuckle; but she could not, a minute later, recollect one word of what had passed between them.
With her hand resting on Dobbin's she glanced back and saw Bellamy—still with his armful of orchids—emerge from the hotel. He halted, his face darkening as he watched Daubeney follow Lucinda into the car. It drew away quickly, giving him no chance to see for himself that it held another passenger.
He stood still upon the steps, deep in sombre and chagrined reflection, till a touch on his arm and a civil "Pardon!" roused him to the fact that he was obstructing the fairway. As he moved aside he was hailed by name.
"Well, I'm damned! Bellamy Druce drunk, dressed up, and highly perfumed."
In his turn, he recognized the speaker, a personage of the theatrical world with modest social aspirations and a noble cellar.