Then there was a little murmur of sympathetic
remarks - but amongst it all Trent sat at the head of the table
with white, set face but with red fire before his eyes. This man
had played him false. He dared not look at Ernestine - only he knew
that her eyes were wet with tears and that her bosom was heaving.
The spirits of men and women who sup are mercurial things, and it
was a gay leave-taking half an hour or so later in the little
Moorish room at the head of the staircase. But Ernestine left her
host without even appearing to see his outstretched hand, and he
let her go without a word. Only when Francis would have followed
her Trent laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder.
"I must have a word with you, Francis," he said.
"I will come back," he said. "I must see Miss Wendermott into her
carriage."
But Trent's hand remained there, a grip of iron from which there was
no escaping. He said nothing, but Francis knew his man and had no
idea of making a scene. So he remained till the last had gone and
a tall, black servant had brought their coats from the cloak-room.
"You will come with me please," Trent said, "I have a few words to
say to you."
Francis shrugged his shoulders and obeyed.
CHAPTER XXXIX
Scarcely a word passed between the two men until they found
themselves in the smoking-room of Trent's house.
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