Two other doors were open, and girls' heads were protruding.
Then—Sorrell understood.
The fool lover had blundered into the wrong bedroom.
Also, he had been ambuscaded. Mrs. Marks' black dress had been keeping vigil, and Roland's dressing-gown was a mere piece of camouflage.
Sorrell remained where he was, watching his enemy standing there, a mass of foolishness, and of cringing plausibility.
"I've apologized to her, sir. I can't do more than that, can I? Besides"
Buck kept glancing at a closed door, the door of Nelly Barrett's room. He knew the right door now, because it had remained discreetly shut.
Sorrell could see nothing of Mr. Roland save his back. It seemed to him to be an uncompromising and disgusted back.
"Come downstairs."
He wanted Buck away from the women where his presence was an offence and a confusion. He turned to the stairs, and saw Sorrell and his poker, and a smile came into his eyes.
"We've startled you, Stephen."
"I wondered what it was, sir."
"Come with us. I shall want you."
Sorrell stood aside to let Roland and the egregious lover pass, and Buck, evil-eyed, went by him with a stiffening of the neck. Sorrell followed them down, and when they were away from the paralysing presence of the women Buck began to blurt more boldly.
"Between men, sir"
"Well?"
"She asked me to"
Roland's voice was abrupt and contemptuous. What a scene! The sex adventure at its worst, caught in a corner, meanly ashamed.
"Shut up, man. I don't want such explanations."
