"Mrs. Heriot is just going," she said clearly. "Perhaps you will see her out, Chris."
She went back to the library, and stood staring before her with blank eyes. She had always hated Mrs. Heriot and distrusted her, but something told her that this time, at all events, the widow had spoken the truth. The facts seemed to fit so completely into the chain of last night's events—Dorothy's tears, Chris' pre- occupation, and her own instinctive feeling that all was not right.
She heard Chris close the front door and come into the room behind her, and she forced herself to turn.
"Dorothy and Aunt Madge are in the drawing-room," she said stiffly. He barred the way when she would have passed him.
"Well, there is no hurry to join them, is there? How did you get on at the bazaar this afternoon?"
"We only stayed a little while. We had our fortunes told."
"Silly child! What did they tell you?"
"Oh . . . lots of things! Nothing that I believe, though."
She stood apathetically with his arm round her. She longed to tear herself from him, but she was afraid that once she gave way to the storm of passionate anger that was rending her she would never be 245 able to control herself.
"I was sorry afterwards that I did not come with you," Chris said. "Feathers wouldn't come out. He's packing—he's off the day after to-morrow."