“Gone?”
“Without a word. All the things are out of his room. He’s always been a coward, and he’s just run away.”
“And left you to pay the bill. How like dear Reggie!”
“You’re right, Miss Ley: no good can come of the whole thing. This is the end, I’ll drop him. Take me up to London, and I promise you I’ll never see him again. I will try from now to do my duty to Paul.”
Their traps were soon collected, and they caught the last train to town. Mrs. Castillyon sat in the corner of the carriage, her face woebegone and white against the blue cushions; she looked out into the night and never spoke. Her companion meditated.
“I wonder what there is in respectability,” she thought, “that I should take such pains to lead back that woman to its dull, complacent paths. She’s a poor creature, and I don’t suppose she’s worth the trouble; and I haven’t seen Rochester after all. But I must take great care, I’m becoming quite a censor of morals, and soon I shall grow positively tedious.”
She glanced at the pretty woman, looking then so old and worn, the powder on her cheeks emphasizing their wan hollowness. She was crying silently.
“I wonder if that beast Frank knew all the time, and basely kept the secret.”
When at last they drew near London, Mrs. Castillyon roused herself. She turned to her friend with a sort of despairing scorn.
“You’re fond of aphorisms, Miss Ley,” she said. “Here’s one that I’ve found out for myself: One can despise no one so intensely as the person one loves with all one’s heart.”