John stood apart, like the shadow of this lovely group, which was of the light, as he said to himself, and could not have too much shining upon it, while he was of the dark and could do nothing but retire into the gloom. He turned towards Mrs. Egerton with a trembling which he could not disguise.
‘Why,’ said he, ‘did you come here? Why have you let her bring you—Why have you brought her here?’
‘Jack,’ said Mrs. Egerton, ‘what does it all mean? Do you think anyone who cared for you as we do could be satisfied with what you said?’
‘But you—didn’t much care for me,’ he said, feeling stupified and unable to face the real issue. She made a little gesture of impatience.
‘I know you have some reason to speak. I was against you: but that’s a very different thing from this. Do you think your friends could give you up when you were in trouble, my poor Jack? Oh! no! no——’
‘Oh no, no, no,’ echoed Elly. ‘Not even papa. He said that we must come and see——’
‘Yes,’ cried Mrs. Egerton, ‘my brother himself. He said what of course anybody would say, that to let you go off and make a martyr of yourself for some unknown reason was out of the question. He would have come himself, but you know he never goes anywhere.’
‘And Mr. Cattley offered to come,’ said Elly, ‘but we felt that we were the right people to come, Jack.’
He stood stupified listening to the alternation of the voices, both so soft in their different tones, both—in view of him, and in the ease and everyday circumstances of his lodging, and his appearance, which was little changed—beginning to feel at their ease too, and as if nothing could be so terrible as they had supposed. It relieved their minds beyond description to see everything in the usual order of a place in which people were living. No man could be in the depths of a catastrophe who had his breakfast-table neatly set out and the Standard folded by his plate. ‘He has given us a fright for nothing,’ Elly had said. The appearance of John indeed gave them a moment’s pause, for he was very pale, and his eyes had a worn and troubled look which it was impossible not to remark. But two days’ illness, or the failure of his scheme, or any other trifling (as these ladies thought) matter, would have sufficed to do that. As he did not say anything, being too much confused and disturbed and miserable and (almost) happy, to do so, Mrs. Egerton went on, in her calm voice, the voice of one who was accustomed to no infringements of the happy ordinary course of life,
‘Now that we are here, don’t you think you might give us some breakfast, Jack? We have travelled most part of the night.’