“I need not trouble you, Mr. Godolphin. I shall not be run away with.”
“I think it will be as well that I should see you do not,” said he, smiling.
It was scarcely dark. The clock had not struck ten, and the night was starlight. Thomas Godolphin gave her his arm, and the maid walked behind them. Arrived at Ashlydyat, he left her. Charlotte stood for a few moments, then turned on her heel and entered the hall. The first thing that caught her notice was a hat; next a travelling coat. They had not been there when she left in the afternoon.
“Then Verrall’s back!” she mentally exclaimed.
Hastening into the dining-room, she saw, seated at a table, drinking brandy and water, not Mr. Verrall, but Rodolf Pain.
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Charlotte, with more surprise in her tone than satisfaction, “have you come?”
“Come to find an empty house,” rejoined Mr. Pain. “Where’s Mrs. Verrall? They tell me she is gone to London.”
“She is,” replied Charlotte. “Verrall neither came back nor wrote; she had a restless fit upon her, and started off this morning to him.”
“Verrall won’t thank her,” observed Mr. Pain. “He is up to his eyes in business.”
“Good or bad business?” asked Charlotte.