Once I was Charles. Now I
am without honour."
"Mr. Geoffrey Waverton," quoth the butler.
Alison's hand went to her breast and she was white.
"Dear Geoffrey!" Mr. Hadley murmured. "I do not know when last I saw dear
Geoffrey," and he turned a sardonic face to the door.
Susan leaned forward. "Alison, dear--if you choose--" she began in
a whisper.
"Sit still," Alison muttered. "Stay, stay."
Mr. Waverton came in with measured pomp, stopped short and surveyed the
company and at last made his bow. "Madame, your most obedient. I fear
that I come untimely."
Alison could not find her voice, so it was Mr. Hadley who answered, "Lud,
Geoffrey dear, you're never out of season: like mutton."
"I give Mrs. Hadley joy," says Geoffrey. "Such wit must be rare company."
Alison was staring at him. "You have something to say to me? You may
speak out. There are no secrets here."
"Is it so, faith? Egad, what friendship! But you have always been
fortunate. And in fact I bring you news of more fortune. You are free
of your Mr. Boyce, ma'am. You are done with him. He has been picked up
dead." He smiled at Alison, Alison white and still and dumb. Mrs.
Weston gave a cry and fell back in her chair and her fingers plucked at
her dress.
Mr. Hadley strode across and stood very close to Geoffrey.
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