She had no fear now of their glances, as she passed them on the stairs, as she met them in the upper hall.  What she had to bear she must bear in silence, and bear it like a Bannister.

CHAPTER IX

“T.  BRANCH”

I

Dalton felt that Fate had played a shabby trick.  He had planned a graceful exit and the curtain had stuck; he had wanted to run away, and he could not.  Flora was very ill, and it was, of course, out of the question to desert Oscar.

Madge had been sent for.  She was to arrive on the noon train.  He had promised Oscar that he would drive down for her.  The house was in a hubbub.  There were two trained nurses, and a half-dozen doctors.  The verdict was unanimous, Flora could not be moved, and an operation was imperative.

And in the meantime there was the thought of Becky beating at his heart.  With miles between them, the thing would have been easy.  Other interests would have crowded her out.  But here she was definitely within reach—­and he wanted her.  He wanted her more than he had ever wanted Madge, more than he had ever wanted any other woman.  There had been a sweetness about her, a dearness.

He thought it over as he lay in bed waiting for his breakfast.  Since waking, he had led Kemp a life of it.

“Of all the fools,” he said, when at last the tray came.

“Anything the matter, sir?”

George lifted a silver cover.  “That’s not what I ordered.”

“You said a kidney omelette, sir.”

“I wanted the kidney broiled—­not in a messy sauce.  Take it away.”

“I’ll get you another.”

“I don’t want another.  Take it away.”  He flung his napkin on the tray and turned his face to the wall.  “I’ve got a headache.  Tell Waterman that if he asks for me, that I’ve told you to go down and meet Miss MacVeigh.”

Kemp stood and looked at the figure humped up under the light silk cover.  He had long patience.  He might have been a stick or stone under his master’s abuse.  But he was not a stick or a stone.  It seemed too that suddenly his soul expanded.  No man had ever called him a fool, and he had worn a decoration in France.  He knew what he was going to do.  And for the first time in many months he felt himself a free man.

George’s decision to have Kemp meet Madge had been founded on the realization that it would be unbearably awkward if he should pass Becky on the road.  She had sent back his pendant without a word, and there was no telling how she was taking it.  If the thing were ever renewed—­and his mind dwelt daringly on that possibility, explanations would be easy—­but he couldn’t make explanation if she saw him first in a car with another woman.

It was thus that Madge, arriving on the noon train, found Kemp waiting for her.  Kemp was very fond of Miss MacVeigh.  She was not a snob and there were so many snobs among Dalton’s friends.  She talked to him as if he were a man and not a mechanical toy.  Dalton, on the other hand, treated his valet as if he were a marionette to be pulled by strings, an organ controlled by stops, or a typewriter operated by keys.