"I never know where he is now," she said. "Oh, Lady Lanswell, I am so miserable, so unhappy that I wish I were dead."
This outbreak from Lady Marion, who was always so calm, so high-bred, so reticent in expressing her feelings, alarmed Lady Lanswell. She took the cold, trembling hands in her own.
"Marion," she said, "you must calm yourself; you must tell me what is the matter and let me help you."
Lady Chandos told her all, and the countess listened in wondering amaze.
"Are you quite sure?" she said. "Lady Ilfield exaggerates sometimes when she repeats those gossiping stories."
"It must be true, since my husband acknowledged it himself, and yet refused to give me any explanation of it. Some time since, I found that he passed so much of his time away from home I asked you if he had any friends with whom he was especially intimate, and you thought not. Now I know that it was Madame Vanira he went to see. She lives at Highgate, and he goes there every day."
"I should not think much of it, my dear, if I were you," said the countess. "Madame Vanira is very beautiful and very accomplished—all gentlemen like to be amused."
"I cannot argue," said Lady Chandos; "I can only say that my own instinct and my own heart tell me there is something wrong, that there is some tie between them. I know nothing of it—I cannot tell why I feel this certain conviction, but I do feel it."
"It is not true, I am sure, Marion," said the countess, gravely. "I know Lance better than any one else; I know his strength, his weakness, his virtues, his failings. Love of intrigue is not one, neither is lightness of love."
"Then if he cares nothing for Madame Vanira, and sees me unhappy over her, why will he not give her up?"