‘I’m very sorry, sir, but——’
George moved towards the door.
‘I’ll go and look for her,’ he said. ‘If she returns before I find her, tell her I’ll come the first thing in the morning.’
And, fuming savagely, he left the house. His temper, never very amiable, was now aroused to the extreme point of irritation, and the servant’s suggestion that Alma might at that very moment be in his rival’s company roused in him a certain frenzy. It was scandalous; it was insufferable. If he could not have it out that night with her, he would seek the clergyman, and force him to some sort of an avowal. Bent on that purpose, he hurried away towards Bradley’s house.
He passed on foot round Regent’s Park, and came to the neighbourhood of the New Church and the adjoining house where Bradley dwelt. It was quite dark now, and the outskirts of the park were quite deserted. As he approached the house he saw the street-door standing open, and heard the sound of voices. He pricked up his ears and drew back into the shadow.
A light silvery laugh rose upon the air, followed by the low, deep tones of a man’s voice. Then the door was closed, and two ligures stepped out into the road, crossing to the opposite side, under the shadow of the trees.
They passed across the lamplight on the other side of the way, and he recognised his cousin’s figure, arm-in-arm with that of the clergyman. They passed on, laughing and talking merrily together.
Keeping them well at a distance, he quietly followed.
They passed round the park, following the road by which he himself had come. Happy and unsuspicious, they continued to talk as they went; and though he was not near enough to follow their conversation, he heard enough to show him that they were on the tenderest and most loving terms.
More than once he felt inclined to stride forward, confront them, and have it out with his rival; but, his courage failing him, he continued to follow like a spy. At last they reached the quiet street where Alma dwelt, and paused on the doorstep of her house.