“Yes, sir.”
“Did you tell him I had been here when he came in?”
“I told him you had been here, sir. In fact, I thought you were here still. I did not know you had left.”
“Did Mr. Verrall tell you now that he could see me?”
“He told me to say that he had retired for the night, sir.”
“Is he in bed?” questioned George.
The servant hesitated. “He spoke to me through the door, sir. He did not open it.”
George caught up his hat, the very movement of his hand showing displeasure. “Tell your master that I shall be here the first thing in the morning. I want to see him.”
He passed out, a conviction upon his mind—though he could scarcely tell why it should have arisen—that Mr. Verrall had not retired for the night, but that he had gone upstairs merely to avoid him. The thought angered him excessively. When he had gone some little distance beyond the terrace, he turned and looked at the upper windows of the house. There shone a light in Mr. Verrall’s chamber. “Not in bed, at any rate,” thought George. “He might have seen me if he would. I shall tell him——”
A touch upon George’s arm. Some one had glided silently up. He turned and saw Charlotte.