He himself
was a great deal with the English Military Mission, and Wilderling was
with _his_ party whatever that might be. He could see of course that
Wilderling was disturbed, or perhaps indignant is the right word. "As
though you know," he said, "some dirty little boy had been pullin'
snooks at him." Nevertheless the Baroness was the human link. Lawrence
would see from the first--that is, from the morning of the Sunday--that
she was in an agony of horror. She confided in nobody, but went about as
though she was watching for something, and at dinner her eyes never left
her husband's face for a moment. Those evening meals must have been
awful. I can imagine the dignity, the solemn heavy room with all the
silver, the ceremonious old man-servant and Wilderling himself behaving
as though nothing at all were the matter. To do him all justice he was
as brave as a lion, and as proud as a gladiator, and as conceited as a
Prussian. On the Wednesday evening he did not return home. He telephoned
that he was kept on important business.
The Baroness and Lawrence had the long slow meal together. It was almost
more than Jerry could stand having, of course, his own private tortures
to face.
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