“And now, Miss Webling, please tell us your side of all this. What have you to say in your own behalf?”
Marie Louise’s mouth suddenly turned dry as bark; her tongue was like a dead leaf. She was inarticulate with remembrance of her oath to Verrinder. She just managed to whisper:
“Nothing!”
It sounded like an autumn leaf rasping across a stone. Polly cried out in agony:
“Marie Louise!”
Marie Louise shook her head and could neither think nor speak. There was a hush of waiting. It was broken by the voices of the men strolling in together. They were utterly unwelcome. They stopped and stared at the women all staring at Marie Louise.
Seeing Davidge about to ask what the tableau stood for, she found voice to say:
“Mr. Davidge, would you be so good as to take me home––to Mrs. Widdicombe’s, that is. I––I am a little faint.”
“Delighted! I mean––I’m sorry––I’d be glad,” he stammered, eager to be at her service, yet embarrassed by the sudden appeal.
“You’ll pardon me, Mrs. Prothero, for running away!”