“And pray, madame, what reason is there for astonishment? I have not heard from you. Not a scrap of intelligence has reached me from either yourself or your daughter, and hence it is I have deemed it my duty to call.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” observed Madame Trieste; “yes, quite natural you should do so, and—ahem—have you quite recovered from the effects of your accident?”
“Yes, I hope so.”
Her manner was constrained, not to say cold, and the earl was at a loss to account for her altered demeanour.
“I am glad you are yourself again.”
“And so you see, madame,” he observed, assuming a cheerful, confidential tone, “I could not keep away from you any longer—so I’ve just run over to see how you all are.”
“Certainly; it’s very kind of you, I’m sure.”
Lord Ethalwood was under the impression from the lady’s manner that his presence in her chateau was not altogether desired, but he did not choose to take any notice of this. There might be something amiss, and he was determined, if possible, to find out what that something was.
Without invitation he unslung his game-bag and ascended the stairs leading to the apartment he had before occupied.
Madame Trieste looked a little surprised, but said nothing.