The glare came again into Chesterfield’s eyes; and then doubt, confusion, indecision. Was this, in truth, his errant wife? He had never questioned it before; but now—was there not something seeming more familiar in the pose, the walk of the other? And yet——
He bent, bewildered, to search the secret of the impenetrable mask. Certainly the dim light, the artificial atmosphere, were trickish things; they confused the visual sense, no less than that of voice and hearing. Was he mistaken after all? And what was his folly, in that case, in bandying words with these while the actual delinquents escaped!
One moment longer he hesitated; then, with a curse, turned on his heel and hurried off in pursuit.
The two remaining watched his retreat in silence; and then Hamilton, resheathing his sword with a snap, gave a low laugh.
“Nothing, my Phil,” muttered he, “will make thee a gentleman”; and he turned on his companion. She stood quite still, observing him. “What made you call me Kit?” said he.
“Why, are you not Kit?” she asked.
He peered at her, inquisitive. Surely she could not have failed to recognize him? No! that was incredible. And he, her? There could be no doubt about it. Her voice, her figure, her manner of dressing her hair; even the trick of her speech, moulded on soft wilful lips; even the fashion of her gown, which he seemed vaguely to recall—they were all Kate, indubitably Kate. No, he must seek another reason for her caprice. And could it be this—that all the time in “Kit” had been meant himself? that all the time she had been taking this playful symbolic means to avow her love for one she dared not admit by name? It was a revealing, a rapturous thought; it might explain much which had seemed inexplicable. And yet, if it were true, what had decided the crisis? Was it possible that it was she herself who had written that anonymous letter, confident in her bait to allure him hither? But, in that case, how had her husband got wind of the ruse? And who were those others, all, apparently, in the emblematic secret? Well, at least she had claimed him, and that was sufficient for his present satisfaction. If some eavesdropping mischief, possessed of knowledge, was manœuvring to complicate the issue, they must set their own wits to outwit hers. For the moment it was only his obvious policy to answer that question in kind.
“Yes, I am Kit,” he said. “I understand at last—your very Kit, sweet cousin. And now, let us away to covert where we can talk.”
“Which way?” she said. Her voice seemed to suggest some tiny inward struggle.
“The shady way,” he answered, with a laugh; and she went compliantly with him. “You made sure of my coming?” he asked tenderly.