'Er—er, I beg your pardon,' stammered Ferrier, as soon as he could find words. 'You called that—a—lady Mrs Litvinoff?'
'I did, sir,' answered the other, with a rather angry flash of his deep-set eyes. 'I might have called her Countess Litvinoff, if you attach any importance to titles.'
'Good God!' said Richard, very slowly. He sat down on the wooden seat without another word.
'I wish you good-morning, sir,' said Petrovitch, making for the incline which leads off the platform.
Before he had made three paces young Ferrier had pulled himself together, and had overtaken him and laid a hand on his arm.
'Forgive me, sir—I am afraid you think me very strange and unmannerly—but I have a deeper interest in this matter than you can possibly imagine. I must beg you to allow me a few moments for explanation.'
'Certainly, sir; I shall be happy to walk your way,' answered the Russian, less stiffly.
No more was said till they got outside the station. It was not easy for Richard to know how to begin. He did not know how much this man knew of Alice, and he felt it would be unfair to tell her story, as far as he knew it, to one who seemed to know her only as a married woman. But, on the other hand, how much did he himself know of her story? He walked along beside Petrovitch for at least ten minutes before he could make up his mind how to begin. At length the other half-stopped and looked at him in a way that compelled speech of some kind.
'The reason I was so surprised when I heard you call that—lady Mrs Litvinoff, was that I have known her from a child, and did not know that she was married. I—I—also knew a Count Litvinoff in London a few months ago, and certainly did not know that he was married. The connection of the two names startled me. I must also tell you that it did more than startle me; it relieved me.'