“I have been told by one on whose judgment I can rely that Lady Susan was speaking in sarcasm when she complimented me before the rest of the company. I did not take her as doing so for myself, I must confess. I have always believed—on insufficient evidence, I begin to fear—that her ladyship was a discriminating critic—even now if she were to assure me that she was not speaking in sarcasm——”
“Oh, lud! he is relenting,” whispered Lady Sarah.
“Did you speak, madam?” said his lordship.
“I was protesting against a too early exercise of your lordship's well-known spirit of forgiveness,” said her ladyship.
“I thank you, Lady Sarah; I am, I know, too greatly inclined to take a charitable view of—of—Why, sink me if she, too, is not trying to make me look ridiculous!” cried his lordship.
“Nay, my lord, I cannot believe that Lady Sarah would be at the pains to do for you what you can so well do for yourself,” remarked Lady Susan.
His lordship looked at her—his mouth was slightly open—then he gazed at the smiling features of the beautiful Lady Sarah, lastly at the perfectly expressionless features of Sir Francis.
“A plot—a plot!” he murmured. Then he struck a commonplace theatrical attitude, the “exit attitude” of the man who tells you that his time will come, though appearances are against him for the moment. He pointed a firm forefinger at Lady Susan, saying: “I wash my hands clear of you all. I have done with you and your plays. Get another man to fill my place if you can.”
Then he rushed out through the open door. He seemed to have a shrewd suspicion that if he were to wait another moment one at least of the girls would have an effective answer to his challenge, and it is quite likely that his suspicion was well founded. As it was, however, owing to his wise precipitancy he heard no more than the pleasant laughter—it really was pleasant laughter, though it did not sound so to him—of the two girls.
But when the sound of the slamming of the hall-door reached the library the laughter in that apartment suddenly ceased. Sir Francis Délavai looked at each of the ladies, and both of them looked at him. For some moments no word was exchanged between them. At last one of them spoke—it was, strange to say, the man.