For the first time since he had known her, she blushed and looked embarrassed. Then she began, in a quick tone,
"Well, I talked. I wanted to see how he took it; and it amused me. And—well, our dear Maggie—she is so very magnificent at times. She looks down so calmly—oh! from such a height—on one. She had told me that day—well, never mind that; it was true, I daresay. I don't love truth. I don't see what right people have to say things to me, just because one may know they are true."
"So you made a little mischief?"
"Well, I hear that poor man walking up and down. I want to comfort him. I asked him to come in, and he refused. Then I offered to go in—he was very frightened. Oh, mon Dieu!" and she laughed almost hysterically.
This very indirect confession proved in the end to be all that Mrs. Cormack's penitence could drive her to, and Tom left her, feeling a little softened towards her, but hardly better equipped for action. What, indeed, could be done? Tom's sense of futility expressed itself in a long letter to Adela Ferrars. As he had no suggestions for present action, he took refuge in future promises.
"It will be very awkward for me to come, but if, as time goes on, you think I should be any good, I will come."
And Adela, when she read it, was tempted to send for him on the spot; he would have been of no use, but he would have comforted her. But then his presence would unquestionably exasperate Maggie Dennison. Adela decided to wait.
Now, by the time Tom Loring's letter reached Dieppe, young Sir Walter and Willie Ruston were on the boat, and they arrived hard on its heels. They took up their abode at a hotel a few doors from where the Seminghams were staying, and Walter at once went round to pay his respects.
Ruston stayed in to write letters. So he said; but when he was alone he stood smoking at the window and looking at the people down below. Presently, to his surprise, he saw the same old gentleman whom Adela had noticed in the Casino.
"The Baron, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "Now, what brings him here?"