'No, no,—I'm all right. But, Bridget, Miss Eustace says—you've actually seen him—you've been to France. When did you go?'
'About three weeks ago,' said Bridget, after a moment's pause. 'Oh, of course I know'—she threw back her head defiantly—'you'll all set on me—you'll all blame me. But I suppose I may be mistaken like anybody else—mayn't I? I didn't think the man I saw was George—I didn't! And what was the good of disturbing your mind?'
But as she told the lie, she told it so lamely and unconvincingly that neither of the other two believed it for a moment. Nelly stood up—tottering—but mistress of herself. She looked at Farrell.
'Sir William—can you take me to Windermere, for the night-train? I know when it goes—10.20. I'll be ready—by nine.' She glanced at the clock, which was just nearing seven.
'Of course,' said Farrell, taking up his hat. 'I'll go and see to the motor. But'—he looked at her with entreaty—'you can't go this long journey alone!'
The words implied a bitter consciousness that his own escort was impossible. Nelly did not notice it. She only said impatiently—
'But, of course, I must go alone.'
She stood silent—mastering the agony within—forcing herself to think and will. When the pause was over, she said quietly—'I will be quite ready at nine.' And then mechanically—'It's very good of you.'
He went away, passing Bridget, who stood with one foot on the fender, staring down into the fire.
When the outer door had closed upon him, Nelly looked at her sister. She was trembling all over.