John considered a moment.
"Where is Sir Henry?"
"Dining at Woolwich."
"Can't you go home?"
"No, no. It is much too early. I'm dressed for—I said I was going to ——, and I have left there already, and the carriage is waiting there still."
"You must go back there," said John. "Get your carriage and go home in it."
He gave the cabman the address and paid him. Then he returned to the cab door.
"Lady Verelst," he said less sternly, "believe me—Archie is not worth it."
"You don't understand," she tried to say, with an assumption of injured dignity. "It was only that I——"
"He is not worth it," said John with emphasis; and he shut to the door of the cab, and watched it drive away. Then he went back to Archie's room, and sat down to consider. A faint odour of scent hung about the room. He got up and flung open the window. Years afterwards, if a woman used that particular scent, the same loathing disgust returned upon him.