"If he were a decent fellow—I'd go out of her life—without a word. But he's a thievish intriguer!—and I don't intend to hold my hand till I've brought him out in his true colours before her and the world. Then—if she chooses—with her eyes open—let her take him!" It was thus his mother imagined his thought, and she was not far from the truth. And meanwhile the sombre changes in the boyish face made her own heart sore. For they told of an ill heat of blood, and an embittered soul.
At luncheon he sat depressed and silent, doing his duty with an effort to his mother's guests. Netta also was in the depths. She had lost the power of rapid recuperation that youth gave to Felicia, and in spite of the comforts of Threlfall her aspect was scarcely less deplorable than when she arrived. Moreover she had cried much since the delivery of the Threlfall letter the day before. Her eyes were red, and her small face disfigured. Felicia, on the other hand, sat with her nose in the air, evidently despising her mother's tears, and as sharply observant as ever of the sights about her—the quietly moving servants, the flowers, and silver, the strange, nice things to eat. Tatham, absorbed in his own thoughts, did not perceive how, in addition, she watched the master of the house; Victoria was uncomfortably aware of it.
After luncheon Tatham took up a Bradshaw lying on a table in the panelled hall, where they generally drank coffee, and looked up the night mail to Euston.
"I shall catch it at Carlisle," he said to his mother, book in hand.
"There will be time to hear your report before I go."
She nodded. Her own intention was to start at dusk for Threlfall.
"Why are you going away?" said Felicia suddenly.
He turned to her courteously:
"To try to straighten your affairs!"
"That won't do us any good—to go away." Her voice was shrill, her black eyes frowned. "We shan't know what to do—by ourselves."
"And it's precisely because I also don't know exactly what to do next, that I'm going to town. We must get some advice—from the lawyers."