"You told Susan," he repeated, "that I—that I had said she was not my wife?"
"Yes," she said, still defiant, but quailing a little before his look.
He stood up. He was regarding her with an expression that held no memories of the past. It was all blotted out; no trampled passion, no hidden tenderness stirred in him to excuse her.
"If you were not a woman—!" he said, in an implacable tone that was unknown to her.—"You had better go."
*****
"What a monster I am!" said Lady Henrietta. "How neglectful!—Was I more than five minutes? You'd have rung if you'd wanted me, wouldn't you? Poor boy, were you very dull?"
"It's nearly time for her to come back," he said.
He was looking tired. Getting up had not done him good. Feeling somewhat guilty his mother sat down to amuse him and make up for her lapse by half an hour's brisk attention.
Somehow his curious depression affected her. She, too, began to listen for the motor.
"I told her not to hurry back," she said apologetically, as time went by. "She's been doing far too much. If she doesn't take care of herself now you're better, she will break down."