“That you, Evelyn? Wanted to tell you that I am going in town with these fellows. Let me get the carriage for you. Don’t mind going home alone, do you, Evelyn?”
“I will take Mrs. Simmons to her carriage,” Vessinger offered, stepping forward.
“Excuse me!” Simmons replied, waving him back. “Will you take my arm, Evelyn?”
Together in some fashion, they reached the porte-cochère, and there again Vessinger tried to put Mrs. Simmons in the carriage, to whisper a word privately to her.
“Shan’t I drive back with Mrs. Simmons?” he asked. Simmons wavered unsteadily, looking at Vessinger all the time. Then he said very distinctly:
“No thank you, Vessinger. We can trust the coachman,—good man, the coachman.”
He handed his wife to the carriage.
“Won’t you come, Olaf?” she asked. “I think you had better come with me.”
Her tone was cold and hard. The man drew himself up quickly.
“Thank you, Evelyn. I had rather not. Good-night.”