“That is right. I am so glad to hear you say that. But you can’t be too careful, you know. The world is so censorious. Society has very keen ears for the least whisper against a woman’s name.”
This time Belle realized that there was some serious purpose beneath her persecutor’s moralizing. She turned on her indignantly.
“I hope you don’t mean that society has been listening to any whispers against my name!” she cried.
The marchioness put out her hands with a soothing gesture.
“Oh, no—not yet, at all events. Still, as I say, you cannot be too careful in your unfortunate position. I thought I ought to take the opportunity of giving you a friendly warning. It is so easy to check a thing of this kind at the outset, but afterwards it may be too late.”
“I am afraid I don’t understand you yet,” said Belle, in a carefully measured voice which would have betrayed the rising anger to a duller ear than the Marchioness of Severn’s. “Do you mean to say that there is anything for me to check?”
The marchioness, becoming slightly nervous, tried to beat about the bush.
“No, no; I won’t go so far as that. I don’t put it in that way—merely a possibility, that is all. Of course, it is very natural that the men who go to such places should admire you, with your voice and figure; only don’t let one particular man admire you more openly than the rest. You understand me?”
Belle’s voice became cold and metallic.
“Do you mean that there is some one whose name has been associated with mine as an admirer more than the rest?”