The solicitous porter, already rewarded with five shillings, and belonging to a race as richly endowed with human failings as any other in the world, hurried up.
“I’ve found a corner seat, ma’am. Put everything into the carriage. You’ve not much time left.”
Suddenly she became aware of the awful desolation that awaited her in the remote cottage in the New Forest with one horrible old servant woman for company. Within her feminine unreason clamoured. No, no! She revolted against the grotesque absurdity of such comfortless living burial. She would go mad, cut off from every opportunity of hearing instant developments of this nerve-racking situation. She couldn’t stick it.
“I’ve changed my mind, porter. I’m not going. Get my things out and bring them back.”
“Certainly, ma’am.”
The porter ran off. Baltazar thrust his hands again into his trousers’ pockets. His face was a grim mask.
“Why don’t you get your luggage out too?” sneered Donnithorpe.
“Don’t be a brainless fool,” said Baltazar.
The fingers in his pockets twitched, and Lady Edna caught a malevolent flash in his eyes that made her shiver. He would have liked to wring her neck. Why the devil didn’t she play the game and go to the cottage and the old woman? He read her through and through. And mingled with his contempt ran a thrill of gladness. Godfrey was well rid of her.
Donnithorpe cackled at his abjuration. He turned to Lady Edna.