Laurence's voice trembled, and his lips; she had noticed when he was lighting the lamp how his hands shook. His face showed deep lines that made him look ten years older. But Mary said with icy calmness:
"You didn't expect me to stay here, did you?"
"I know where you went," he repeated, his eyes dully flaming. "You ran to him, to—"
She was changing her dress for a warm wrapper, but suddenly she turned on him.
"Is that woman in the house?"
"No—she's gone."
"How is she gone—where?"
"What does it matter to you?... She went to the station, if you want to know. She meant to take the first train out."
"She can't go like that—like a thief in the night!... You are responsible toward her, Laurence."
"Don't worry about my responsibility. I'll take care of it."