He
did not strike her. His hand fell. But she, as though she had felt a blow
had her hand held to her face.
He stood over her for a moment laughing, his head flung back. Then still
laughing he went away from them out into the hall.
Then, through the open door they heard him. He passed through the upper
rooms crying out as he went--"Clare! Clare! Where are you? Come down!
They're here for dinner! You're wanted! It's time, Clare!--where are you?
Clare! Clare!"
They heard him, knocking furniture over as he went. Then there was silence.
Mrs. Rossiter seemed, at that, to come to herself. She stood up, feeling
her cheek.
"It's sent him off his head, Bobby. Go after him. He'll hurt himself." Then
as though to herself, she went on--"I must find Clare--she'll be in Paris,
I suppose. I must go and find her, Bobby. She'll want me badly."
She went quietly from the room, still with her hand to her cheek. She
listened for a moment in the hall.
She turned round to Bobby:
"It doesn't say--the letter--where Clare's gone?"
"No--only Paris."
He helped her on with her cloak and opened the front door for her. She
slipped away down the street.
Bobby turned back and saw that Peter was coming down the stairs. But now
the fury had all died from his face, only that look, as of some animal
wounded to death, a look that was so deep and terrible as almost to give
his white face no expression at all, was with him.
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