He grasped the handle of the door that concealed his brother; it was in his mind to return to him.
And say—what?
The red mounted to his cheeks, his brow; it was not so long ago since he had adored her, and she had been unfairly treated. Rose had laughed; what would Rose care?
He took up his hat and left the house. As he turned into the street he felt the evening air cold on his face, and looking up beheld a solitary star above the dark houses of Panton Square.
He thought of the Countess with pain and misgiving, and his young face was stormy, but she did not wholly occupy his mind; like a pleasant odour pervading everything was the remembrance of Susannah Chressham waiting his return in the soft-hued room in the Haymarket; he dwelt on the image of her and found it the image of gentleness and joy, soothing to consider.
He hastened his steps homewards, nor did it occur to him to look back at his brother's house, where the Countess leant from an upper window with the keen wind dishevelling her hair and watched him eagerly out of sight.