Mortimer said nothing and she began to get a little nervous.
“You don’t seem to take much interest in my travels, so I won’t enter into particulars; but you can imagine the sort of thing for yourself—perfect rest and quiet, and away from Aunt Poynder. By the way, where is Aunt Poynder?”
“Haven’t you seen her?” the man asked, with grim intention.
“No. How should I?” she replied innocently. “Jane—Mary—whatever you call the new one—said she had gone into Yorkshire for the night. What a funny thing for Aunt Poynder to do! What possessed her? Perhaps she has gone away for a cure, like me.”
Mortimer here made an inarticulate sound and his wife was quick to interrupt him.
“Oh, please don’t begin to question me! Don’t you see I am still rather nervous? Take me when you have got me, and be thankful. Are you not one little bit glad to see me?”
“God, Phœbe, what a liar you are!” he exclaimed, making a step forward.
“Really, Mortimer!”
“Read this!” he said violently, taking a crumpled sheet of notepaper out of his breast coat pocket. “Read it, and then perhaps you’ll know where your aunt is—if you don’t know already, which of course you do!”
Mrs. Elles took the note out of his hands. “Don’t, Mortimer, look at me as if you hated me!” she added deprecatingly.