A light footfall interrupted his meditations, and looking up, he saw, standing before him, half screened by the bushes which she was holding back, to give her free access to the main path which he was pursuing, the graceful figure and sad, sweet face of Madame Darcy.
A shade of annoyance passed over his brow as he remembered the scene of the night before, and his companion was quick to interpret his mood. "Ah, Mr. Stanley," she said, "you've seen my husband."
"Yes," he admitted. "He came up to the Hall last night."
"I hope he didn't make himself a nuisance," she said.
"Well, I'm afraid he did rather," he returned, and added, "but it's nothing," for he felt that it would be impossible for him to tell her what had really occurred.
"I'm so sorry," she cried. "I only bring you trouble."
"No, indeed," he hastened to assure her, "far from it. These little talks with you are a positive rest and refreshment to me. I hate this playing the spy."
"I suppose it won't do for me to ask how you're progressing, and what you've found out?"
"I've found out that I've made an awful fool of myself," he said. "Mr. Riddle——"
"I could have told you who Mr. Riddle was yesterday," she said.