Saton was standing a little away, with his elbow leaning upon the mantelpiece.
“If two of you,” he said, helping himself to a cigarette, and deliberately lighting it, “will take Lady Marrabel over—say to that oak chair underneath the banisters—blindfold her, and then leave her. Really I ought to apologize for what I am going to do. Everything is so very obvious. Still, if it amuses you!”
Pauline sat by herself. The others were all gathered together in the far corner of the great hall. Saton turned to the bishop.
“This is only a repetition of the sort of thing which you have doubtless seen,” he said. “Have you anything in your pocket which you are quite sure that Lady Marrabel knows nothing of?”
Silently the bishop produced a small and worn Greek Testament. Saton opened it at random. Then he turned suddenly toward the figure of the woman sitting alone in the distance. Some change had taken place in his manner and in his bearing. Those who watched him closely were at once aware of it. His teeth seemed to have come together, the lines of his face to have become tense. He leaned a little forward toward Pauline.
“I have something in my hands,” he said. “I wonder if you can tell me what it is.”
There was no answer. They listened and watched. Pauline never spoke. Already a smile was parting Rochester’s lips.
“I think, Lady Marrabel,” Saton said slowly, “that you can tell me, if you will. I think that you will tell me. I think that you must!”
Something that sounded almost like a half-stifled sob came to them from across the hall—and then Pauline’s voice.