There was no mistaking that tone.
“Go along, Jacky,” said Freke, with cheerful submission. “You’ll be liable to catch some dreadful moral complaint if you breathe the same atmosphere with me too long. I am a sinner of high degree, I am.”
Jacqueline turned and sullenly followed Judith back, while Freke, smiling and unruffled, walked by her side. And then supper was served, but Jacqueline was perfectly distrait and could not keep her eyes off Freke, who was the life and soul of the party. The supper was after the Virginia order—very good—and so profuse it could not all be got on the table.
On the drive home there was perfect silence. Freke made one or two observations to Judith, but her cold silence convinced him that it was useless. He was not afraid of her, but he saw no good in pretending to placate her. When they reached Barn Elms and were standing in the cold hall, Judith said to Jacqueline:
“Go on. I shall be up in a moment.”
“I’ll wait for you,” replied Jacqueline, doggedly.
“You may wait, but I wish to speak to Freke privately. I shall take him into the drawing-room.”
At this, Jacqueline went slowly and unwillingly up the stairs.
Judith picked up the lamp and went into the dark drawing-room. The fire still smoldered dimly in the great fireplace. Freke took up the tongs and made a vigorous attack on the fire, and in two minutes the flames were leaping around the brass firedogs. Then he settled himself comfortably in the corner of the sofa.
Judith, although her determination was made, yet felt timid, and her heart beat.