"The night before last!"
Rylton's astonishment is so immense that he can do nothing but repeat her words. And now it must be told that Minnie, who had seen that vindictive look on Mrs. Bethune's face as she went down the terrace steps on the night of Lady Warbeck's dance, and had augured ill from it for Tita and her brother, had cross-examined Tom very cleverly, and had elicited from him the fact that he had heard footsteps behind the arbour where he and somebody—he refused to give the name—had sat that night, and that he—Tom—had glanced round, and had seen and known, but that he had said nothing of it to his companion. A mutual hatred for Mrs. Bethune, born in the breast of Tom as well as in his sister, had alone compelled Tom to declare even this much. Minnie had probed and probed about his companion, as to who she was, but Tom would not speak. Yet he might as well have spoken. Minnie knew!
"Yes, that night at Lady Warbeck's. I know you will think me horrid to say what I am going to say, and really there is nothing—only—I am so fond of Tita."
"It is not horrid of you to say that," says Rylton, smiling.
"No. I know that. But that isn't all. I—am afraid Tita has an enemy in this house."
"Impossible," says Rylton.
He rises, smiling always, but as if to put a termination to the interview.
"No, but listen," says Minnie, who, now she has entered upon her plan, would be difficult to beat. "Do you remember when you and Mrs. Bethune were standing on the balcony at Warbeck Towers—that night?"
Rylton starts, but in a second collects himself.
"Yes," returns he calmly.