‘In Paris?’ Hubert repeated, with a poor affectation of indifference.
‘I made a short stay before crossing. I had business at a bank one day; as I stood before the counter a gentleman entered and took a place beside me. A second look assured me that he was the man who met me at the edge of the wood that morning. I suppose he remembered me, for he looked away and moved from me. I left the bank, and found an open carriage waiting at the door. In it sat the lady of whom we speak. I took a turn along the pavement and back again. The Frenchman entered the carriage; they drove away.’
Hubert’s eyes were veiled; he breathed through his nostrils. Again there was silence.
‘Mr. Eldon,’ resumed the vicar, ‘I was a man of the world before I became a Churchman; you will notice that I affect no professional tone in speaking with you, and it is because I know that anything of the kind would only alienate you. It appeared to me that chance had made me aware of something it might concern you to hear. I know nothing of the circumstances of the case, merely offer you the facts.’
‘I thank you,’ was Hubert’s reply in an undertone.
‘It impressed me, that letter ready stamped for Wanley Manor. I thought of it again after the meeting in Paris.’
‘I understand you. Of course I could explain the necessity. It would be useless.’
‘Quite. But experience is not, or should not be, useless, especially when commented on by one who has very much of it behind him.’
Hubert stood up. His mind was in a feverishly active state, seeming to follow several lines of thought simultaneously. Among other things, he was wondering how it was that throughout this conversation he had been so entirely passive. He had never found himself under the influence of so strong a personality, exerted too in such a strangely quiet way.
‘What are your plans—your own plans?’ Mr. Wyvern inquired.