Lauriston opened his subject in a very low voice as soon as he and the governess were outside the door.
“You will need no assurance from me, madam,” he began, “of the perfect loyalty of my motives, now you know that I intend to marry Nouna. But you will not be surprised at my anxiety to know something more about the family to which she belongs. As a matter of fact I have not even heard her surname. Have you any objection to tell me what you know?”
“Not the least,” answered Mrs. Ellis, with perfect openness. “Her name is Nouna Weston. Her father I never knew, as he died when she was a little child. Her mother, now the Condesa di Valdestillas, is my ideal of a perfect gentlewoman. She is religious, perhaps a little bigoted even, very beautiful, and she has that distinction of manner which is more uncommon than beauty, to my idea. She is very generous and impulsive, and dotes upon her daughter. The Count, to whom she is devoted, I have only seen once; he accompanied his wife on a visit to the school. He is a small, thin, rather sallow gentleman, with very courteous manners, who gives one the idea of being rather selfish and domineering. The Countess dresses very quietly, almost perhaps what some people would call dowdily, as you know our Englishwomen of high rank so often do. But she must be well off, I think, for I know the principal of the school used to say she wished the parents of her other pupils were all as punctual in their payments as the Countess; and I must say, though she doesn’t allow much pocket-money to Nouna, yet her treatment of me is most generous. It is really good-natured of me to wish the child happily married, for the income of an officer’s widow who has no friends at court is by no means magnificent, as I dare say you know.”
Nothing could be more satisfactory than this, as far as it went, and the authority was unimpeachable; Mrs. Ellis being one of those simple, honest, unimaginative creatures who can neither invent a story nor tell an improbable one so as to make it appear probable. But of course the narrative offered no explanation of the puzzling events of the evening.
“And you believe the Countess to be still abroad?” he asked.
“Oh yes, if she were in England she would have been to see her daughter. She only pays flying visits to this country for that purpose.”
“Oh yes.” He could not get out of his head the idea that the woman of whom he had caught a glimpse at the window, whose dress Nouna had seen in the inner room down stairs, and who had certainly listened to their conversation on the landing, was Nouna’s mother. But what on earth, if Mrs. Ellis’s account were true, should she be doing paying secret visits to the house where her daughter was staying, and conspiring with a man of real or pretended mesmeric powers to play tricks on her?
It was very puzzling, but no suggestion Mrs. Ellis could offer was likely to throw light on the subject. He however asked her one or two more questions.
“Are there any ladies in this house besides yourselves? Or have you noticed any lady-visitors to the other inmates?”
“There is an old Frenchwoman who gives music lessons who has a room on the top-floor; but I have never seen any other ladies go in or out,” said Mrs. Ellis, rather surprised by the questions.