At the door he encountered Mrs Rimbolt, who glared at him and swept past.
“How is Percy this morning?” he inquired.
“No thanks to you, Mr Jeffreys,” said the lady, with a double venom in her tones, “he is alive.”
“His arm, is it—?”
“Go to your work, sir,” said the lady; “I have no wish to speak to you.”
Jeffreys bowed and retreated. He had expected such a reception, and just now it neither dismayed nor concerned him.
On the staircase he met Raby. She looked pale and anxious, but brightened up as she saw him.
“Mr Jeffreys,” said she, “are you really up, and none the worse?”
“I am well, thank you,” said he, “but very anxious to hear about Percy.”
“He has had a bad night with his arm, but the doctor says he is going on all right. What a terrible adventure you had. Percy told me a little of it. Oh, Mr Jeffreys, it is all my fault!”