A withering look included the stolid Bethune in this last indictment.
"Raymond, see that he goes," said English, "that he goes at once--and quietly."
"Ah, yes, I beg," interposed the doctor, with gravity. "Quiet is imperative, Sir Gerardine."
English walked over to the window and began to drum on the pane. Dr. Châtelard removed his spectacles, and put them into his pocket.
"One is reminded of the history of the judgment of Solomon," he remarked genially, as he followed Bethune to the door. "Permettez, cher capitaine? I return to your wife."
"They're going!" said Bethune, triumphantly. "Their fellow has patched up the motor; it will take them as far as the station at least."
Harry English, pacing the little study much after the manner of Muhammed the night before, halted abruptly.
"They ought to have gone an hour ago," he answered. And, when he looked like that, for a certainty Captain English wore no pleasant countenance. "What has he been doing?"
The relaxation of the muscles, which was Bethune's usual substitute for a smile, came over his face.
"First, he's been trying to persuade Aspasia to go away with him. And secondly, he's been reproaching her for her unfilial behaviour in refusing to leave us; and thirdly, he has been bestowing his avuncular curse upon her and repudiating her for ever and ever. All this naturally took some time."
A flash of pleasure swept across the other's gloom.
"So the girl sticks to us. That is right," he said. Then the frown came back. "You've warned them to be quiet, I hope, with their infernal car?"
"I've told the chauffeur if he makes a sound more than he can help, he'll have me to deal with. I made the fellow swear to wait for them halfway down the avenue. Lady Aspasia's a good sort too, take her all in all--has her head screwed on the right way. She'll keep the old man in order."
English took a couple of turns again, and halted, his head bent. There were voices passing in the hall without: Sir Arthur's querulous tones, Lady Aspasia's unmistakable accents, strident even under her breath. Bethune went to the window.
"There they go," said he, presently. "She's giving him her arm. By George," he went on, "she, for one, won't be anxious to dispute your identity, Harry!"