Unconsciously, Charlock had tightened¹ his grip on his wife's bare arm. A cry of pain escaped her, a murmuring, uncomplaining cry which drew a hum of sympathy from the onlookers². The red band on the white flesh was plainly visible. Rent, standing³ by the table, ventured a word of expostulation. Charlock saw that he was a handsome man, with a clean-shaven, sensitive face, though the eyes were resolute⁴, and the firm lines about the mouth denoted strength of character. So much the better. As to the rest, he wore the dress coat of modern civilisation⁵. This was Kate's sympathetic friend. There was something like a sneer⁶ on Charlock's face as he turned to Rent.

 

"I am extremely sorry," he said. "You will forgive me, but I am quite out of place here. And in that respect I ought to have your sympathy and support, my dear sir."

 

The other man's face flushed, and he bit his lip. The retort was so obvious, so keen and pungent⁷, that many of the onlookers made no efforts to restrain their amusement. Kate Charlock rose from the table and turned to the stranger.

 

"Would you mind getting my wrap for me, Mr. Rent?" she said. "I am sure, John, that Mrs. Bromley-Martin will excuse you, and I know you would prefer to wait outside for me."

 

Charlock muttered something, and turned upon his heel. It was no time now for nice conventionalities. After the close and stuffy⁸ atmosphere the outer air was cool and refreshing⁹. Charlock passed his hand across his eyes. He was trying to realise what had happened during the last few minutes. He could remember nothing of what he had said and done. There was but one picture uppermost in his mind—the picture of a tiny figure lying white and motionless upon a bed. That was all Charlock's world to-night.

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