"I tell you, I will not dine with those men. It is an insult to have asked me to receive them, they are——", but here the man, evidently her husband, interrupted earnestly in a low tone of voice, begging her to be silent, but she did not heed his request.
"I tell you," she continued, as he passed on to the dining-rooms, "I will go back alone. Ugh! how I despise you!" loathing and contempt stung in her words. "If only my father were here, he would never permit——" She turned suddenly, and crossed the hall to the staircase, coming face to face with the Secretary.
"What— Inez? You? I did not know you were in London. But of course— I might have known— Then that was Colonel Darcy? I have never had an opportunity to congratulate him or—to wish you every happiness," he added bitterly.
"Don't, Jim! Don't!" There was something suspiciously like a sob in her low voice. "That is a mockery I cannot stand—at least from you."
"I fail to understand how my wishes, good or otherwise, would mean anything to Madame Darcy."
"No—you do not understand. That is just it. Oh, Jim—it has all been a piteous, horrible mistake. They lied to me—and then you did not come back. They said you were—oh, can't you see?"
The Secretary looked at the beautiful face before him, now flushed and distressed. How well he knew every line of that exquisite profile and the hair parted low and drawn back lightly from the brow.
"Let me explain," he urged hotly.
Madame Darcy had recovered her self-possession and drew herself up with a gesture of proud dignity.
"No—" she answered gently. "This is neither the time nor place for explanations between us. Will you see me to my carriage—please?"