She pressed the hand that was held to her, nodded, and left the room.

CHAPTER XXII

It was striking one when Mrs. Wade came in sight of the Quarriers’ house.  At this hour Quarrier was expected at home for luncheon.  He arrived whilst the visitor still waited for an answer to her ring at the door.

“But haven’t you seen Lily?  She told me”——­

“Yes, I have seen her.  She is at the cottage.”

A peculiarity in her tone arrested his attention, and the look of joyous excitement which had been fixed upon his face these last few days changed to anxious inquiry.

“What’s the matter?”

“She is quite well—­don’t imagine accidents.  But I must speak to you in private.”

The door had opened.  Denzil led straightway to the library, where he flung aside hat and overcoat.

“What is it, Mrs. Wade?”

She stood close before him, her eyes on his.  The rapid walk had brought colour to her cheek, and perhaps to the same cause was attributable her quickened breathing.

“Lily has been discovered by an enemy of hers and yours.  A man named Northway.”

“Damnation!”

He felt far too strongly to moderate his utterance out of regard for the listener.  His features were distorted; he stared wrathfully.

“And you have left her with him?  Where is she?”

“She is quite safe in my sitting-room—­the key turned to protect her.  He, too, is in the house, in another room.  I have gained time; I”——­

He could not listen.

“How did it happen?—­You had no right to leave her alone with him!  —­How has he found her?”

“Please don’t eat me up, Mr. Quarrier I have been doing my very best for you.”

And she told him the story of the morning as briefly as possible.  Her endeavour to keep a tone of perfect equanimity failed in the course of the narrative; once or twice there was a catching in her breath, and, as if annoyed with herself, she made an impatient gesture.

“And this fellow,” cried Quarrier, when she ceased, imagines that I am at his mercy!  Let him do what he likes—­let him go into the market-place and shout his news!—­We’ll go back at once.”

“You are prepared, then, to have this known all over Polterham?” Mrs. Wade asked, looking steadily at him.

“I don’t care a jot!  Let the election go to the devil!  Do you think I will submit Lily to a day of such torture?  This very evening we go to London.  How does she bear it?”

“Very well indeed.”

“Like a brave, good girl!  Do you think I would weigh the chance of election against her misery?”

“It seems to me,” was the cold answer, “that you have done so already.”

“Has she complained to you?”

“Oh, no!  But I understand now what always puzzled me.  I understand her”——­

She checked herself, and turned quietly from him.  Strategy must always be liable to slips from one cause or another, and Mrs. Wade’s prudence had, for the moment, yielded to her impulses.