Lilias went up to London and down to Deepdale; but Lord Selvaine had been there before her. Careful as Lady Wyndover had been, a whisper or two had gone round that something was wrong at Belfayre, and Selvaine was one of the first to hear it. He had had his suspicions all along, for he was as sharp as a lynx, and had seen signs of trouble in both Esmeralda’s and Trafford’s faces. He went straight down to Deepdale, and the moment he was ushered into Lady Wyndover’s presence, went as straight to the heart of the matter.
“Where is Esmeralda?” he asked in his quiet way, but with his piercing eyes fixed on her.
Lady Wyndover knew that it would be worse than useless to endeavor to conceal anything from the terribly astute Lord Selvaine, whom she regarded with unmixed awe.
“I don’t know,” she said, with her hands pressed closely together. “I tell everybody she is here, but she is not. I suppose you’ve heard something,” she added, timidly.
“I have heard—something,” he responded.
Almost at that moment the servant entered with a telegram from Lilias. It said:
“Trafford has sailed for Australia. I am coming to you at once.”
She gave it to Lord Selvaine with trembling hands.
“Oh, what does it mean?”