When she looked again the large, pale, lack-luster eyes were turned toward the door, and Lady Gwendolyn recognized her at once.
She had almost decided to go in, confront her, and insist upon a full explanation, when she heard a step she knew only too well mounting the stairs, and from a sudden instinct stepped back, and concealed herself behind the heavy curtains of a window behind. She had scarcely drawn the folds about her, before her husband appeared, holding a lamp in his hand, which he set down on a little table, so close to the curtain behind which she was hidden that she trembled in her shoes.
He took a large key out of his pocket, and turned it twice in the lock. But it was evident that even with this he did not feel that his prisoner was safe, for he had to undraw two bolts before he could gain admittance.
Then he took the lamp and walked in, closing the door after him. Lady Gwendolyn’s knees shook under her, and she had a feeling at the moment as if she would rather not know the truth.
But she conquered this weakness, and knelt down at the keyhole again, just in time to see Sir Lawrence bend over the woman and kiss her tenderly.
Then he drew a chair to her side, and Lady Gwendolyn heard him say, in a coaxing voice:
“You will be glad to get away from here, Mary, dear, will you not? I have taken a pretty cottage for you in the country, where you will be able to have a garden, and grow plenty of flowers and fruit. You will like that, I am sure?”
“I want to be with my husband,” she answered, in a voice of stern resentment. “What right have you to send me out of the way?”
“But, Mary, I have thoroughly explained why what you want is impossible. And, indeed, it would not be for your happiness, my poor child.”
“I am not a child, and you treat me shamefully,” she snapped. “I won’t have a cottage in the country!”