“Daly has been here——­” she said and stopped as Mrs. Featherstone came in.

The latter looked at Foster rather curiously, but gave him her hand and seemed to take it for granted that he meant to resume his stay.  She said her husband had gone to dine with a neighbor and would not be back for an hour or two, and then let Foster go to his room.

Dinner was served soon after he came down, but while they talked freely about matters of no importance Foster noted a subtle difference in Mrs. Featherstone’s manner.  She was not less friendly than usual, but she asked no questions about his journey and avoided mentioning Lawrence.  It looked as if she knew her husband’s doubts, but Foster somehow thought she did not altogether share them.  In the meantime, he tried to act as if their relations were perfectly normal, but found it hard, and now and then glanced at the clock.  It was a long way to the nearest inn and he wondered when Featherstone would return, because he could not accept the hospitality of a man who distrusted him.

When dinner was over, he went with the others to the drawing-room and did his best to engage them in careless talk.  Alice supported him when his efforts flagged, as they sometimes did, and once or twice gave him a half-amused, half-sympathetic glance.  He did not know if he was grateful for this or not, but saw that she knew what he felt.  If Mrs. Featherstone guessed, she made no sign; she treated him with the graciousness one would expect from a well-bred hostess, but went no further.

It was a relief when Featherstone came in.  He made a little abrupt movement when he saw Foster, to whom he did not give his hand.  The latter thought he looked disturbed.

“I am sorry I was not at home when you arrived,” Featherstone said.  “Still, I had no reason for thinking you would be here.”

“In fact, you were rather surprised to see me,” Foster suggested.

Featherstone looked at him as if he thought he had been blunter than was necessary, but replied:  “Well, I suppose that’s true, but I have no doubt Mrs. Featherstone has made up for my absence, and since you have come, we would like to talk to you about Lawrence.  I dare say you will give us a few minutes.”

He opened the door as Mrs. Featherstone rose, and Foster went with them to the library, where Featherstone sat down at a big table.  It was here he wrote his business letters and occasionally attended to magisterial duties, and Foster thought this was why he had chosen the place.  It, no doubt, gave him a feeling of authority.  Mrs. Featherstone sat by the fire, but Foster was surprised when Alice came in.  Featherstone glanced at her with a frown.

“It might have been better if you had stayed downstairs and left this matter to your mother and me,” he remarked and waited, as if he expected his wife to support him, but she did not.

“No,” said Alice; “I am beginning to get anxious about Lawrence, and if Mr. Foster can tell us anything fresh, I ought to hear it.  But I don’t think he can.  I believe he told us all he knew before.”