‘A jealousy about me! You surely never dared—’ and here her voice trembled with real passion, while her eyes flashed angrily.
‘No, no. I am guiltless in the matter. It was that cur Atlee made the mischief. In a moment of weak trustfulness, I sent him over to Wales to assist my uncle in his correspondence. He, of course, got to know Lady Maude Bickerstaffe—by what arts he ingratiated himself into her confidence, I cannot say. Indeed, I had trusted that the fellow’s vulgarity would form an impassable barrier between them, and prevent all intimacy; but, apparently, I was wrong. He seems to have been the companion of her rides and drives, and under the pretext of doing some commissions for her in the bazaars of Constantinople, he got to correspond with her. So artful a fellow would well know what to make of such a privilege.’
‘And is he your successor now?’ asked she, with a look of almost undisguised insolence.
‘Scarcely that,’ said he, with a supercilious smile. ‘I think, if you had ever seen my cousin, you would scarcely have asked the question.’
‘But I have seen her. I saw her at the Odescalchi Palace at Rome. I remember the stare she was pleased to bestow on me as she swept past me. I remember more, her words as she asked, “Is this your Titian Girl I have heard so much of?”’
‘And may hear more of,’ muttered he, almost unconsciously.
‘Yes—even that too; but not, perhaps, in the sense you mean.’ Then, as if correcting herself, she went on, ‘It was a bold ambition of Mr. Atlee. I must say I like the very daring of it.’
‘He never dared it—take my word for it.’
An insolent laugh was her first reply. ‘How little you men know of each other, and how less than little you know of us! You sneer at the people who are moved by sudden impulse, but you forget it is the squall upsets the boat.’
‘I believe I can follow what you mean. You would imply that my cousin’s breach with me might have impelled her to listen to Atlee?’