There was a cheerful blaze on the hearth, and the room itself—being small—always looked cozier than any other at Acol Court.
Nevertheless, Editha's face was pallid and drawn, and she stared into the fire with eyes which seemed aglow with anxiety and even with fear. Her cloak was tied loosely about her shoulders, and at sight of Sir Marmaduke she started, then rising hurriedly, she put her hood over her head, and went towards the door.
"Ah! my dear Editha!" quoth her brother-in-law, lightly greeting her, "up betimes like the lark I see. . . . Are you going without?" he added as she made a rapid movement to brush past him and once more made for the door.
"Yes!" she replied dully, "I must fain move about . . . tire myself out if I can . . . I am consumed with anxiety."
"Indeed?" he retorted blandly, "why should you be anxious? Everything is going splendidly . . . and to-night at the latest a fortune of nigh on £500,000 will be placed in my hands by a fond and adoring woman."
He caught the glitter in her eyes, that suggestion of power and of unspoken threats which she had adopted since the episode in the Bath Street house. For an instant an ugly frown further disfigured his sour face: but this frown was only momentary, it soon gave way to a suave smile. He took her hand and lightly touched it with his lips.
"After which, my dear Editha," he said, "I shall be able to fulfill those obligations, which my heart originally dictated."
She seemed satisfied at this assurance, for she now spoke in less aggressive tones:
"Are you so sure of the girl, Marmaduke?" she asked.
"Absolutely," he replied, his thoughts reverting to a day spent at Dover nearly three months ago, when a knot was tied of which fair Editha was not aware, but which rendered Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse very sure of a fortune.