Bechamel's face suggested a different
expectation. "Beg pardon, sir," said Stephen, with a diplomatic
cough.
"Well?" said Bechamel, wondering suddenly if Jessie had kept some
of her threats. If so, he was in for an explanation. But he had
it ready. She was a monomaniac. "Leave me alone with her," he
would say; "I know how to calm her."
"Mrs. Beaumont," said Stephen.
"WELL?"
"Has gone."
He rose with a fine surprise. "Gone!" he said with a half laugh.
"Gone, sir. On her bicycle."
"On her bicycle! Why?"
"She went, sir, with Another Gentleman."
This time Bechamel was really startled. "An--other Gentlemen!
WHO?"
"Another gentleman in brown, sir. Went into the yard, sir, got
out the two bicycles, sir, and went off, sir--about twenty
minutes ago."
Bechamel stood with his eyes round and his knuckle on his hips.
Stephen, watching him with immense enjoyment, speculated whether
this abandoned husband would weep or curse, or rush off at once
in furious pursuit. But as yet he seemed merely stunned.
"Brown clothes?" he said. "And fairish?"
"A little like yourself, sir--in the dark. The ostler, sir, Jim
Duke--"
Bechamel laughed awry. Then, with infinite fervour, he said--But
let us put in blank cartridge--he said, "--- ---!"
"I might have thought!"
He flung himself into the armchair.
"Damn her," said Bechamel, for all the world like a common man.
"I'll chuck this infernal business! They've gone, eigh?"
"Yessir."
Well, let 'em GO," said Bechamel, making a memorable saying.
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