“Will not Mr. Deville tell her—or my father?”
“It is just possible that Mr. Deville might,” he said, with the air of one who had well considered the matter. “But I do not think it likely; there are certain reasons which would probably keep him silent.”
“And my father?” I asked.
Again there was an odd look in his face. Somehow it filled me with vague alarm; I could not imagine what it meant.
“I do not think,” he answered, “that your father will tell her; I am nearly sure that he will not. No, I myself shall announce my return. I shall stand face to face with her before she has learned to school her countenance. I shall see in the light or in the darkness how she holds me. It will be a test—a glorious test.”
Lady Naselton came rustling up to us with beaming face. “My dear girl,” she said, “I am so sorry to disturb you, you both look so interested. Whatever you have found to talk about I can’t imagine. Lady Romney is going; she would so like to know you. Would you mind coming to speak to her?”
“With pleasure,” I declared, rising at once to my feet; “I must be going too. Good afternoon, Mr. Berdenstein.”
He held out his hand, but I had no intention of shaking hands with him. I bowed coldly, and turned to follow Lady Naselton.
“Perhaps it is best,” he murmured, leaning a little forward. “We cannot possibly be friends; no doubt you hate me; we are on opposite sides. Good afternoon, Miss Ffolliot.”
I followed Lady Naselton, but before we had reached the Romneys I stopped her.