"Yes, that is it," she said; "it is the music. It always did affect me," and she laughed.
He looked at her anxiously.
"Violet, this place does not suit you," he said. "You are looking pale and ill. It is my fault; I ought to have taken you abroad. You will go, will you not?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh, yes, if you like. I am perfectly indifferent. But I am quite well, all the same."
Some one coming up to them, he rose and surrendered the chair, as a matter of course, and a moment or two afterward he heard her laugh as if nothing had passed between them.
He walked about the room for some minutes, absently looking at the pictures, or exchanging a word with one person and another, then sauntered into the anteroom to consult Austin Ambrose as to the best place to take the countess, but that gentleman had left the room; and, ascertaining from a servant that he had gone into the library, Blair went there with the same listless step.
As he opened the library door he heard voices and saw that Austin Ambrose was not alone; a thin, gentlemanly man was seated opposite him, a stranger to Blair, and he stepped back.
"I beg your pardon; I thought you were alone, Austin," he said.
"Don't go," said Austin Ambrose. "This is the earl, Mr. Snowdon; this is Mr. Snowdon, the detective, Blair."