"I could not help myself. Business has kept me in London."
"Have you been ill also? You look thin and worn."
"One does grow to look thin in heated London," he replied evasively, as he walked to the window, and stood there. "How is your brother, Maude—Bob?"
"I don't want to talk about Bob yet; I have to talk to you," she said. "Percival, why did you practise that deceit upon me?"
"What deceit?"
"It was a downright falsehood; and made me look awfully foolish when I came here and spoke of it as a fact. That action."
Lord Hartledon made no reply. Here was one cause of his disinclination to meet his wife—having to keep up the farce of Dr. Ashton's action. It seemed, however, that there would no longer be any farce to keep up. Had it exploded? He said nothing. Maude gazing at him from the sofa on which she sat, her dark eyes looking larger than of yore, with hollow circles round them, waited for his answer.
"I do not know what you mean, Maude."
"You do know. You sent me down here with a tale that the Ashtons had entered an action against you for breach of promise—damages, ten thousand pounds—"
"Stay an instant, Maude. I did not 'send you down' with the tale. I particularly requested you to keep it private."