"What's up?" he said abruptly.
"Up?" she said with an uncontrollable start.
"Yes, with you?"
"Nothing. What d'you mean?"
"Why, you looked as if--don't you b'lieve I've been playin' bridge?"
"Of course I do. Really, Fritz, how absurd you are!"
It was evident that he, too, was not quite easy to-night. If he had a
conscience, surely it was pricking him. Fierce anger flamed up again
suddenly in Lady Holme, and the longing to lash her husband. Yet even
this anger did not take away the anxiety that beset her, the wish that
she had not done the crazy thing. The fact of her husband's return before
Leo's arrival seemed to have altered her action, made it far more
damning. To have been found with Leo would have been compromising, would
have roused Fritz's anger. She wanted to rouse his anger. She had meant
to rouse it. But when she looked at Fritz she did not like the thought of
Leo walking in at this hour holding the latch-key in his hand. What had
Fritz done that night to Rupert Carey? What would he do to-night if--?
"What the deuce is up with you?"
Lord Holme drew in his legs, sat up and stared with a sort of uneasy
inquiry which he tried to make hard. She laughed quickly, nervously.
"I'm tired, I tell you. It was awfully hot at the opera."
She put some more ice into the lemonade, and added:
"By the way, Fritz, I suppose you locked up all right?"
"Locked up what?"
"The front door.
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