Trethowen had gone over to Hastings to visit some friends, and Egerton, who found time hanging heavily upon his hands, strolled in to hear the music. As he entered, the first object which met his eye was Valérie, who, dressed with becoming taste and elegance, was sitting alone, casting furtive glances towards the door, as if expecting someone.
After a moment’s hesitation he walked over to where she sat, and greeting her briefly with a pleasant smile, took a chair beside her.
“Where is your friend?” she asked abruptly.
“He went to Hastings this morning.”
“When will he return?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied the artist carelessly.
“I suppose the attraction of your fascinating self will not allow him to remain absent long. Am I to—er—congratulate you?”
Her dark eyes flashed angrily, as she exclaimed in a low, fierce tone:
“You’ve tricked me! You’ve told him!”
“And if I have, surely it is no reason why you should make an exhibition of your confounded bad temper in a public place. If you wish to talk, come into the grounds,” he said in a tone of annoyance.