"You had better come and eat a bit of dinner," he said, roughly, but not unkindly. "None of us can touch much, I daresay, but we are going to sit down. William is staying, and so is Martin. Won't you come and try to take a bit? Or shall I send you something up?"
"It would be of no use."
Mr. Edwin Barley looked at her: she was shivering outwardly and inwardly. I could just see out under the corner of the cushion.
"You have caught a violent cold, Selina. How could you think of going out?"
"I will tell you," she added, in a more conciliating spirit. "I went out because you went. To prevent any encounter between you and George Heneage,—I mean any violence. After that, I stayed looking for him."
"You need not have feared violence from me. I should have handed him over to the police, nothing more."
There was a mocking sound in his voice as he spoke. Selina sat down and put her feet on the fender.
"I hate to dine without somebody at the table's head," Mr. Edwin Barley said, turning to the door. "If you will not come, I shall ask Charlotte Delves to sit down."
"It is nothing to me who sits down when I am not there."
He departed with the ungracious reply ringing in his ears: and ungracious I felt it to be. She bolted the door again, and pulled the blue velvet cushion off my head.