Rachel thanked her and held out a weary hand to Sidney.
Colonel Sedley had ordered a farewell bouquet of orchids for Rachel and he got through his ordeal with a red face. The colonel was innocent of guile but he could not reconcile himself to Belhaven. He wrung Astry's hand at parting.
"You're losing the finest woman in the world in your sister-in-law. Oh, of course Mrs. Astry's lovely, but Rachel—to tell you the truth, Astry, I'm cut up; I wanted her to marry my favorite."
"You mean John Charter?"
"I do; he's going to feel this."
"He's to marry Mrs. Prynne."
"Oh, damn!" said the colonel, and plunged out into the omnibus, in which Mrs. Billop, Sidney, and Mrs. Prynne were already packed.
Astry's big, gray horses were prancing impatiently, and as soon as the footman had closed the door on the colonel's irate form, the carriage rolled away down the long drive from the terrace and disappeared at last through the picturesque Georgian gateway.
The presence of guests had been distinctly uncomfortable in the strained relations of the household, but this disappearance of the last—old Dr. Macclesfield and Count Massena had left early in the morning—plunged the group in the hall into a sudden panic. Eva took instant flight up-stairs, scarcely allowing them more than a vanishing view of her trailing draperies as she turned the last wide curve above the landing. Belhaven retired awkwardly toward the library, a retreat which offered only a new refinement of torment if Astry chose to follow him. But Astry did not; he remained standing at Rachel's side in the big doorway.
It was late afternoon and the western sun streamed over the close-cropped lawns, drenched the terrace in light, and reached across the tessellated floor to the hem of Rachel's white dress. The glow of it even penetrated the shadowy corners of the large hall and the warmth and fragrance of early spring breathed itself upon the atmosphere. A glint caught on the mediaeval arms that hung on the darkening walls. Astry had collected armor and carvings, curious ivories, and hideous, little Indian gods and Chinese idols, from every corner of the world. Here and there in the house cropped up a curiosity or an odd decoration, but his greatest treasures were gathered in his smoking-room. The world supposed that Astry was an agnostic; some of his intimates said that he was a Buddhist. The fact was that no one really knew him, for he guarded the peculiarities of his personality as carefully as the Veiled Prophet hid his face. He stood beside his sister-in-law and watched the omnibus leave the gate and, traveling down the long shaded road, disappear abruptly over the hill, as if it had plunged over the side of the universe. As abruptly they felt themselves to be alone.