“What are you going to do, Madeline?” Barbara asked.
“I must go to the school, I suppose, and let the secretary know that—that I may have to be absent for a day or two. It will be horrid. I shall have to tell him all about it—after having got leave for the funeral. But it will sound so strange, so extraordinary. Oh! It is horrible!”
“It is!” exclaimed Wallingford, fumbling with tremulous fingers at his cigarette case. “It is diabolical! A fiendish plot to disgrace and humiliate us. As to that infernal parson, I should like—”
“Never mind that, Tony,” said Barbara; “and we had better not stay here, working up one another’s emotions. What are you doing, Rupert?”
“I shall go to my chambers and clear off some correspondence.”
“Then you might walk part of the way with Madeline and see if yo
