CHAPTER XLII
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WhenCharlesleftDucieStreethehadcaughtthefirsttrainhome,buthadnoinklingofthenewestdevelopmentuntillateatnight.Thenhisfather,whohaddinedalone,sentforhim,andinverygravetonesinquiredforMargaret.
“Idon’tknowwheresheis,pater”saidCharles.“Dollykeptbackdinnernearlyanhourforher.”
“Tellmewhenshecomesin.”
Anotherhourpassed.Theservantswenttobed,andCharlesvisitedhisfatheragain,toreceivefurtherinstructions.Mrs.Wilcoxhadstillnotreturned.
“I’llsitupforheraslateasyoulike,butshecanhardlybecoming.Isn’tshestoppingwithhersisteratthehotel?”
“Perhaps,”saidMr.Wilcoxthoughtfully—“perhaps.”
“CanIdoanythingforyou,sir?”
“Notto-night,myboy.”
Mr.Wilcoxlikedbeingcalledsir.Heraisedhiseyes,andgavehissonmoreopenalookoftendernessthanheusuallyventured.HesawCharlesaslittleboyandstrongmaninone.Thoughhiswifehadprovedunstablehischildrenwerelefttohim.
AftermidnighthetappedonCharles’sdoor.“Ican’tsleep,”hesaid.“Ihadbetterhaveatalkwithyouandgetitover.”
Hecomplainedoftheheat.Charlestookhimoutintothegarden,andtheypacedupanddownintheirdressing-gowns.CharlesbecameveryquietasthestoryunrolledhehadknownallalongthatMargaretwasasbadashersister.
“Shewillfeeldifferentlyinthemorning,”saidMr.Wilcox,whohadofcoursesaidnothingaboutMrs.Bast.“ButIcannotletthiskindofthingcontinuewith
