“Philip, again!” she murmured. “Something must have happened. Well, let us see.”
Philip mounted the stairs slowly and heavily, with his hand on the banisters, and his head bent down. Only when he reached the landing where Perdita stood did he look up. When she saw the expression on his face, she took him by the hand without a word, and led him up to the next floor, and into her boudoir. Some wine was sparkling in a decanter on the cabinet between the windows. She poured out a glass of this, and held it to his lips. He had been glancing round the room in an apprehensive but intent way, and then into her face, as if suspecting the presence of some one or of something which did not appear. After a few moments’ pause he drank the wine, and put the glass down.
“If she is here, tell me at once,” he said.
“No one is here but ourselves. Whom do you mean?”
“Lately? Three or four days ago--a week.”
“Marion--your wife? Why, Philip ... lost!”
“I thought she might have come here. No, I didn’t think it: I hoped--I couldn’t believe all at once that she was gone. One tries to dodge such things as long as possible.” He fetched a deep breath, and took off his hat, which, up to this moment, he had forgotten to remove. “I beg your pardon,” he said vaguely, drawing his brows together as if to collect his wits: “Thank you. You’re going out. I won’t detain you.”
“Sit down, Philip,” said the Marquise, guiding him to a chair as if he had been a child, or an infirm person. “I am not going out--I am going to stay here with you. See! I am dressed to receive you,” she added, throwing off her wrap and smiling. “Now, Philip, we are friends, you know, and you have confidence in me. Let me help you. At any rate, tell me!”
“I am ashamed to tell it,” said he heavily. “I have been to blame: but I never thought of this. It doesn’t seem possible in her!”
“Has your wife left you--has she run away?” asked Perdita, putting into words, with her accustomed strength of nerve, what Philip shrank from formulating even in his thought. He did not reply, save by an assenting silence, and she presently went on: “Are you sure there is no mistake? She can’t have been gone long; she may come back.”
“She will never come back: she left a letter, to say she thought it best we should not meet again, after ... some words we had this morning. But that is a pretext! I had a right to ask her to explain. She must have made up her mind before; and when she found I knew what--what you told me--”