Hugh read it twice, thrice, before he believed that this experience was a reality. Then he turned to Lady Forwood with a laugh—a laugh of a strange exhilaration which was produced by the surprise, the shock almost, following upon his interview with Helven.
“Do you mean to say you have not received my letter?” he had said, before he had even had the idea of speaking. It seemed to him as if some other entity was speaking through his lips, while his will remained passive. And what the other entity uttered was a falsity!
“Not a line, not a word!” said Lady Forwood, becoming serious. “Whose fault can it be? If the servants——”
“Whatever fault there is in the matter is mine, and mine only,” said Hugh, reckless with a feeling which was half delirious joy, half despair. “But do you think, when the princess’ name has been taken in vain like this, that they will come?”
“Come?” Lady Forwood looked blank surprise with her beautiful blue eyes. “You don’t mean to say you have not asked her?” she cried.
“I had hoped you would arrange it with her,” he said in desperation. “I thought—I fancied—the change and the quiet might be good for her, so I was having the place done up.”
“I think myself I should have made sure of the birds before I got the cage ready,” said Lady Forwood, demurely (although her inward comment was an amused “It is really high time the poor man had a woman to look after him”). “However, you know, you and I are old friends, as friends go now-a-days, and I should so much enjoy invading you in your Surrey hermitage, that I will undertake to make it all right with the Andriocchis. Only tell me exactly when you want us.”
“You saw—next month,” said Hugh, half-savagely. He would investigate the affair of the paragraph. He would find out whose hand had precipitated his fate, had cast the last straw to balance his destiny.
“Any day?” asked Lady Forwood, smiling.
“Any day,” he said, somewhat brusquely.