“Softly, softly, softly, my dearest! You are talking at random.”
“How can I face that man again?—he must know, of course,” Lois continued vehemently, referring to Paul Desfrayne.
“We shall see more clearly after a while, Lois. Certainly, I am surprised by this affair; but perhaps my nephew, Amberley, may be able to enlighten us a little more. Come, let us go down. They will wonder if I, at least, keep them waiting much longer.”
“No—no, dear Lady Quaintree. I cannot go now. I feel as if I must shrink into the earth rather than meet them again,” said Lois, recoiling as Lady Quaintree offered her hand.
“Nonsense! I did not think my quiet, soft-spoken Lois was made of such silly stuff.”
“Dear Lady Quaintree, I really cannot go now. Perhaps, when the rooms are full of people, and I can hope to escape observation, I may venture.”
“Will you faithfully promise to come when I send for you—or, at least, in half an hour?”
“Yes—yes, dear madam.”
Lady Quaintree was obliged to be satisfied. In her secret heart she was sorry for the conditions which so horrified her young friend.
For a vast change had taken place in her plans since she had heard her nephew tell his news. What she had dreaded and feared hitherto she would now gladly see accomplished; but here were difficulties, apparently insurmountable, placed in her way.