"I beg your pardon, Madame," she said. But even when she had rejoined my side her eyes remained fixed upon the face of the Archduchess and her companion.
There was a general movement forward. One of the ladies in the suite, however, lingered behind. Our eyes met, and Lady Delahaye held out her hand.
"Your ward is growing," she murmured, "in inches, if not in manners. When are you going to engage a chaperon for her?"
"When I think it necessary, Lady Delahaye," I answered, with a bow.
"You artists have—such strange ideas," she remarked, smiling up at me. "You wish Isobel to remain a child of nature, perhaps. Yet you must admit that a few lessons in deportment would be of advantage."
"To the Archduchess, apparently," I answered. "One does not often see a great lady so embarrassed."
Lady Delahaye shrugged her shoulders. She dropped her voice a little.
"Are we never to meet without quarrelling, Arnold?" she whispered, looking up into my eyes. "It used not to be like this."
"Lady Delahaye," I said, "it is not my fault. We seem to have taken opposite sides in a game which I for one do not understand. Twice during the last six months you have made attempts which can scarcely be called honourable to take Isobel from us. Our rooms are continually watched. We dare not let the child go out alone. Now this woman from Madame Richard's has come to live in the same building. She, too, watches."
"It is only the beginning, Arnold," she said quietly. "I told you more than a year ago that you were interfering in graver concerns than you imagined. Why don't you be wise, and let the child go? The care of her will bring nothing but trouble upon you!"