'You're in a fine hurry,' remarked Mr Holt grimly, looking up and speaking for the first time.
'Left some work over,' said Jack, in a curt manner, making for the door.
'Hem! you've got work on the brain,' retorted his father in his most sardonic tone.
Jack opened the door without a word.
'One minute, Jack,' said Mrs Holt placidly, 'you needn't go yet, your father and I have something to say to you.'
Jack stood rooted to the ground. His knees almost gave way beneath him. It, it, it was it. They knew. Victoria's face, the profile of which he could see outlined like a plaster cast against the red wall paper did not help him. Her face had set, rigid like a mask. Now she knew why the previous evening had gone by in silence. She rose to her feet, a strange numb feeling creeping all over her.
'Don't go, Mrs Fulton,' said Mr Holt sharply, 'this concerns you.'
For some seconds the party remained silent. Mr and Mrs Holt had not moved from the table. Jack and Victoria stood right and left, like prisoners at the bar.
'Victoria,' said Mrs Holt, 'I'm very sorry to have to say it, but I'm afraid you know what I'm going to tell you. Of course I don't say I blame you. It's quite natural at your age and all that.' She stopped, for a flush was rising in Victoria's face, the cheekbones showing two little red patches. Mr Holt had clasped his hands together and kept his eyes fixed on Victoria's with unnatural intensity.
'You see, Victoria,' resumed Mrs Holt, 'it's always difficult when there's a young man in the house; of course I make allowances, but, really, you see it's so complicated and things get so annoying. You know what people are . . .'