"You are going to the Willings to come home with her?" asked Sylvia, surprised by his gruffness.
He spoke in a lower tone.
"You didn't see to-day's papers? She's been to Chicago with those Willings and their machine was smashed and the chauffeur hurt. I'm going to bring her back. She had no business to be visiting the Willings in the first place, and their taking her to Chicago without our consent was downright impudence. I don't want Mrs. Bassett to know of the accident. I'm going up on the night train."
It satisfied his turbulent spirit to tell her this; he had blurted it out without attempting to conceal the anger that the thought of Marian roused in him.
"She wasn't hurt? We should be glad of that!"
Sylvia lingered, her hand on the veranda rail. She seemed very tall in the mellow starlight. His tone had struck her unpleasantly. There was no doubt of his anger, or that Marian would feel the force of it when he found her.
"Oh, she wasn't hurt," he answered dully.
"It's very unfortunate that she was mixed up in it. I suppose she ought to come home now anyhow."
"The point is that she should never have gone! The Willings are not the kind of people I want her to know. It was a great mistake, her ever going."
"Yes, that may be true," said Sylvia quietly. "I don't believe—"