CHAPTER XXVI
Mutimer did not come to the Manor for luncheon. Rodman, who had been
spending an hour at the works, brought word that business pressed; a
host of things had to be unexpectedly finished off and put in order.
He, Alice, and Adela made pretence of a midday meal; then he went
into the library to smoke a cigar and meditate. The main subject of
his meditation was an interview with Adela which he purposed seeking
in the course of the afternoon. But he had also half-a-dozen letters
of the first importance to despatch to town by the evening post, and
these it was well to get off hand. He had finished them by half-past
three. Then he went to the drawing-room, but found it vacant. He
sought his wife's chamber. Alice was endeavouring to read a novel,
but there was recent tear-shedding about her eyes, which had not
come of the author's pathos.
'You'll be a pretty picture soon if that goes on,' Rodman remarked,
with a frankness which was sufficiently brutal in spite of his
jesting tone.
'I can't think how you take it so lightly,' Alice replied with utter
despondency, flinging the book aside.
'What's the good of taking it any other way? Where's Adela?'
'Adela?' She looked at him as closely as her eyes would let her.
'Why do you want her?'
'I asked you where she was.
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