He drew back, waited, and listened.
‘Will you not come in?’ he heard his cousin say.
He could not hear the reply, but it was accompanied by a kiss and an embrace, which made the jealous blood boil and burn along his veins.
‘Good-night, dearest!’ said Alma.
‘Good night, my darling!’ answered the deep voice of the clergyman.
Then the two seemed to embrace and kiss again, and the next moment the house door opened and closed.
George Craik stepped forward, and stood waiting on the pavement for Bradley to pass, right under the light of a street lamp. Almost immediately Bradley came up quietly, and they were face to face.
The clergyman started, and at first George Craik thought that he was recognised; but the next moment Bradley passed by, without any sign of recognition, and before the other could make up his mind what to do, he was out of sight.
George Craik looked at his watch; it was still early, and he determined at once to interview his cousin. He knocked at the door and asked for her; she heard his voice and came out into the lobby, charmingly attired in an evening dress of the ‘crushed strawberry’ tint, so much favoured by ladies of æsthetic leaning. Never had she looked more bright and beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling, and she looked radiantly happy.
‘Is it you, George?’ she cried. ‘What brings you so late? I hope no one is ill. My uncle——’