They were to start by a train leaving for London at half-past eight on
the following morning. When Beatrice came back it was half-past ten, and
in his irritation of mind Mr. Granger insisted upon everybody going
to bed. Elizabeth shook hands with Geoffrey, congratulating him on his
escape as she did so, and went at once; but Beatrice lingered a little.
At last she came forward and held out her hand.
"Good-night, Mr. Bingham," she said.
"Good-night. I hope that this is not good-bye also," he added with some
anxiety.
"Of course not," broke in Mr. Granger. "Beatrice will go and see you
off. I can't; I have to go and meet the coroner about the inquest, and
Elizabeth is always busy in the house. Luckily they won't want you;
there were so many witnesses."
"Then it is only good-night," said Beatrice.
She went to her room. Elizabeth, who shared it, was already asleep, or
pretending to be asleep. Then Beatrice undressed and got into bed, but
rest she could not. It was "only good-night," a last good-night. He was
going away--back to his wife, back to the great rushing world, and to
the life in which she had no share.
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