Lady Luce bit her lip softly, as if very much confused.
"I am so sorry I spoke!" she said, in an apologetic whisper. "It was very foolish of me—I am always blurting out awkward things—it is the impulsive Celtic temperament! Pray forgive me, Miss Lorton, and try and forget my stupid blunder."
There was an intense silence. Nell looked straight before her, as one looks who hears the knell of the bell which signals the hour of her execution. Drake stood with his hands clasped behind him, his face perfectly calm, his eyes resting on Nell with infinite love and trust. The others glanced from one to the other with doubtful and half-suspicious looks. It seemed as if no one could start a conversation; the air was heavy with suspense and suspicion. The countess was quick and clever. She saw that for Nell's sake the matter must not be allowed to rest where it was; she knew that Lady Luce would have effected her purpose and cast a shadow of scandal over Nell's future life if not another word was spoken. Convinced that Nell was innocent of even the slightest indiscretion, she felt that it would be wiser to force Lady Luce's hand.
So she came forward with a smile of tolerant contempt on her pretty, shrewd face, and said slowly, and with her musical drawl:
"Oh, but, Lady Luce, we cannot let you off so easily. What is this interesting story in which Miss Lorton and Sir Archie Walbrooke are concerned?"
Lady Luce rose with well-feigned embarrassment.
"Pardon me, Lady Angleford," she said. "I have blundered and have asked forgiveness; I have not another word to say."
She was crossing the room in front of Drake, and he saw her lip curl with a faint sneer. He laid his hand upon her arm gently but firmly.
"We will hear the story, if you please, Lady Luce," he said.
She bit her lip, as if she were driven into a corner, and did not know what to do.