"I am sorry you have suffered such intense anxiety," he said resentfully. "Did you suspect me of having murdered him?"
"Nonsense, Geoffrey! I could not help thinking of all possible dangers; and it distressed me to know that other people thought you unkind in leaving him."
"Other people have talked like fools—as foolishly as his mother, in whom one forgives folly. I was not his nurse, or his doctor, or his hired servant. I was only a casual companion; and I was free to leave him how and when I pleased."
"But not to leave him in distress or difficulty. I knew you could not have done that. I knew that you could not act ungenerously. I think Lady Emily ought to make you a very humble apology for her rudeness, when she has her son safe at home."
"She may keep her apologies for people who value her opinion. I shall be a thousand miles away when her son returns."
He was silent and gloomy for the rest of the morning, and Suzette felt that she had offended him. Was he so jealous of her former lover that even the mention of his name—a natural interest in his safety—could awaken angry feelings, and make a distance between them? Even their music went badly, and Mrs. Wornock, from her seat by the fire, reproached them for careless playing.
"That sonata of Porpora's went ever so much better last week," she said, on which Geoffrey threw down his bow in disgust.
"I dare say you are right. I am not in the mood for music. Will you come for a ride after lunch, Suzette? I can drive you home, and the horses can follow while you are getting on your habit. We might fall in with the hounds."
Suzette declined this handsome offer. She was not going to say to lunch.
"Father complains that I am never at home," she said, putting away the music.