This man had played him false.

He dared not look at Ernestine--only he knew that her eyes were wet with tears and that her bosom was heaving.
The spirits of men and women who sup are mercurial things, and it was a gay leave-taking half an hour or so later in the little Moorish room at the head of the staircase.

But Ernestine left her host without even appearing to see his outstretched hand, and he let her go without a word.

Only when Francis would have followed her Trent laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder.
"I must have a word with you, Francis," he said.
"I will come back," he said.

"I must see Miss Wendermott into her carriage." But Trent's hand remained there, a grip of iron from which there was no escaping.