"How do you mean?"
"Well, you see he is only out on—what do they call it?—I mean he has had to give his word that he won't run away—or something. I heard Herbert say something about that at lunch—oh! what lovely tulips! I dote on that rich coppery red, don't you?"
"Then does he go about in Black Maria escorted by a policeman?"
"Probably."
This somewhat more vaguely, for the surmise was doubtful.
"I can't understand Louisa Harris, can you?"
"Oh, she thinks it's unconventional to go about with a murderer. She only does it for notoriety."
But the Countess of Flintshire, who wrote novels and plays under the elegant nom de plume of Maria Annunziata, was deeply interested in Luke and Louisa, and stopped to talk to them for quite a considerable time. She said she wanted "to draw Luke de Mountford out." So interesting to get the impressions of an actual murderer, you know.
The men felt uncomfortable. Englishmen always do when the unconventional hovers about in their neatly ordered atmosphere. Common-sense—in their case—whispered loudly, inking that this man in the Sackville Street clothes, member of their own clubs, by Jove! could not just be a murderer! Hang it all! Harris would not allow his daughter to go about with a murderer!
So they raised their hats as they passed by Louisa Harris and said, "Hello! How de do?" to Luke quite with a genial smile.