“Yes,” he said blandly, “they must be happy. I had some thought of calling upon them when in town, but I bethought me that they must be fully occupied with their friends and the management of their homes, and that my visit, at present, might seem out of place.”
“I think it would have been a duty properly fulfilled—what do you say, sister?” exclaimed the Honourable Philippa.
“I think it would have been a duty and a kindness,” said the Honourable Isabella, making a couple of false stitches before she found out her mistake.
“I have been remiss,” said Montaigne, with a bland smile, as he bent his head. “How day by day one awakens more and more to the fact that human nature is far from perfect!”
“Ah, indeed!” said the Honourable Philippa.
“Yes, indeed!” said the Honourable Isabella, with a lively recollection of her thoughts regarding Marcus Glen.
“I must try and remedy my failing, ladies, at my next visit to town. But how is the last lamb in this peaceful fold—Ruth?”
He uttered this inquiry with his eyes half-closed, and a calm, sweet smile played the while about his lips till he heard the Honourable Philippa’s reply:
“Oh, she is in town! Lord and Lady Henry came down in the barouche the day before yesterday, and fetched her up to stay with them for some time.”
The warm, pleasant look in Paul Montaigne’s face changed to one of a grim cold grey; the smile disappeared, his lips tightened, and he seemed for the moment to have grown old and careworn. Even his voice changed, and sounded hard and harsh as he said quickly: