“Mr. Hamilton, you need not see me home. I can——”
“Of course I am coming. Good-bye, Mrs. Rivington, it has been a delightful evening. Yes, I won’t forget about the portrait, Mrs. Jacobs.”
He followed Claudia out into the hall, followed by Mrs. Milton with her roll of music.
“Don’t you know I should come?” he whispered, not noticing her.
The maid helped Claudia on with her cloak. Mrs. Milton was tucking herself—the maid, with the strange knowledge of the servants’ hall, did not trouble to help her—into a businesslike garment, long and warm. Claudia heard her make some inquiry of one of the maids, and caught the words “last ’bus.”
Frank came up to her at that moment, the dawning light of possession in his eyes, a subtle change in his manner.
“Are you ready, madam?” He smiled to himself as he foresaw the long drive in the darkness, side by side in the pleasant intimate warmth of the motor ... her hand would fall naturally into his and then....
“Mrs. Milton, can I not give you a lift in the motor?” Her clear voice cut short his dreams. “Where do you live? Maida Vale. Oh! we can go that way quite easily. Yes, I should like to take you home quickly to the bronchitisy child.”
Only one of the maids, who giggled over it and mimicked him directly the hall-door was shut, saw the sudden scowl on Hamilton’s brow, for Claudia was bent on saving the tired woman an uncomfortable cold journey in the ’bus and Mrs. Milton was full of gratitude at the unexpected thoughtfulness.
“My! wasn’t that a sell for him,” said the pert parlour-maid. “Thought he’d have a nice, cosy time with her all alone. But she wasn’t taking any. Always does a man good to take him down a peg or two!”