Dr. Grogan was mercifully not on his rounds. Charles refused the housekeeper’s invitation to go in, but waited on the doorstep until the little doctor came hurriedly down to meet him—and stepped, at a gesture from Charles, outside the door so that their words could not be heard.

“I have just broken off my engagement. She is very distressed. I beg you not to ask for explanation—and to go to Broad Street without delay.”

Grogan threw Charles an astounded look over his spectacles, then without a word went back indoors. A few seconds later he reappeared with his hat and medical bag. They began walking at once.

“Not…?”

Charles nodded; and for once the little doctor seemed too shocked to say any more. They walked some twenty or thirty steps.

“She is not what you think, Grogan. I am certain of that.”

“I am without words, Smithson.”

“I seek no excuse.”

“She knows?”

“That there is another. No more.” They turned the corner and began to mount Broad Street. “I must ask you not to reveal her name.” The doctor gave him a fierce little side-look. “For Miss Woodruff’s sake. Not mine.”

The doctor stopped abruptly. “That morning—am I to understand… ?”

“I beg you. Go now. I will wait at the inn.”

But Grogan remained staring, as if he too could not believe he was not in some nightmare. Charles stood it a moment, then, gesturing the doctor on up the hill, began to cross the street towards the White Lion.

“By heavens, Smithson…”

Charles turned a moment, bore the Irishman’s angry look, then continued without word on his way. As did the doctor, though he did not quit Charles with his eyes till he had disappeared under the rain-porch.

Charles regained his rooms, in time to see the doctor admitted into Aunt Tranter’s house. He entered with him in spirit; he felt like a Judah, an Ephialtes, like every traitor since time began. But he was saved from further self-maceration by a knock on the door. Sam appeared.

“What the devil do you want? I didn’t ring.” Sam opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Charles could not bear the shock of that look. “But now you’ve come—fetch me a glass of brandy.”

But that was mere playing for time. The brandy was brought, and Charles sipped it; and then once more had to face his servant’s stare.

“It’s never true, Mr. Charles?”

“Were you at the house?”

“Yes, Mr. Charles.”

Charles went to the bay window overlooking Broad Street.

“Yes, it is true. Miss Freeman and I are no longer to marry. Now go. And keep your mouth shut.”

“But. .. Mr. Charles, me and my Mary?”

“Later, later. I can’t think of such matters now.”

He tossed off the last of his brandy and then went to the writing desk and drew out a sheet of notepaper. Some seconds passed. Sam did not move. Or his feet did not move. His gorge was visibly swelling.

“Did you hear what I said?”

Sam had a strange glistening look. “Yes, sir. Honly with respeck I ‘ave to consider my hown sitwation.”

Charles swung round from his desk.

“And what may that mean?”

“Will you be residin’ in London from ‘enceforward, sir?”

Charles picked up the pen from the standish.

“I shall very probably go abroad.”

“Then I ‘ave to beg to hadvise you, sir, that I won’t be haccompanin’ you.”

Charles jumped up. “How dare you address me in that damned impertinent manner! Take yourself off!”

Sam was now the enraged bantam.

“Not ‘fore you’ve ‘eard me out. I’m not comin’ back to Hexeter. I’m leavin’ your hemploy!”

“Sam!” It was a shout of rage.

“As I bought to ‘ave done—”

“Go to the devil!”

Sam drew himself up then. For two pins he would have given his master a never-say-die [15] (as he told Mary later) but he controlled his Cockney fire and remembered that a gentleman’s gentleman uses finer weapons. So he went to the door and opened it, then threw a freezingly dignified look back at Charles.

“I don’t fancy nowhere, sir, as where I might meet a friend o’ yours.”

The door was closed none too gently. Charles strode to it and ripped it open. Sam was retreating down the corridor.

“How dare you! Come here!”

Sam turned with a grave calm. “If you wishes for hattention, pray ring for one of the ‘otel domestics.”

And with that parting shot, which left Charles speechless, he disappeared round a corner and downstairs. His grin when he heard the door above violently slammed again did not last long. He had gone and done it. And in truth he felt like a marooned sailor seeing his ship sail away; worse, he had a secret knowledge that he deserved his punishment. Mutiny, I am afraid, was not his only crime.

Charles spent his rage on the empty brandy glass, which he hurled into the fireplace. This was his first taste of the real thorn-and-stone treatment, and he did not like it one bit. For a wild moment he almost rushed out of the White Lion—he would throw himself on his knees at Ernestina’s feet, he would plead insanity, inner torment, a testing of her love… he kept striking his fist in his open palm. What had he done? What was he doing? What would he do? If even his servants despised and rejected him!

He stood holding his head in his hands. Then he looked at his watch. He should still see Sarah tonight; and a vision of her face, gentle, acquiescent, soft tears of joy as he held her… it was enough. He went back to his desk and started to draft the letter to Ernestina’s father. He was still engaged on it when Dr. Grogan was announced.

The sad figure in all this is poor Aunt Tranter. She came back from her lunch expecting to meet Charles. Instead she met her house in universal catastrophe. Mary first greeted her in the hall, white and distraught.

“Child, child, what has happened!”

Mary could only shake her head in agony. A door opened upstairs and the good lady raised her skirt and began to trot up them like a woman half her age. On the landing she met Dr. Grogan, who urgently raised his finger to his lips. It was not until they were in the fateful sitting room, and he had seen Mrs. Tranter seated, that he broke the reality to her.

“It cannot be. It cannot be.”

“Dear woman, a thousand times alas… but it can—and is.”

“But Charles… so affectionate, so loving… why, only yesterday a telegram…” and she looked as if she no longer knew her room, or the doctor’s quiet, downlooking face.

“His conduct is atrocious. I cannot understand it.”

“But what reasons has he given?”

“She would not speak. Now don’t alarm yourself. She needs sleep. What I have given her will ensure that. Tomorrow all will be explained.”