The honourable sisters agreed that it was, and Mr Montaigne took his leave with reverent, affectionate grace, and passed out into the gardens, along whose broad gravel paths he walked slowly in his customary way—bland, sweet, and introspective with his half-closed eyes. But though he did not increase his pace in obedience to his rapidly-beating pulse, a close observer would have noticed that he did not stop to feed the fishes on his way back to Teddington, while his landlady was surprised at the hurried way in which he again took his departure.
The change from Hampton Court to Saint James’s was delightful to Ruth, who only felt one drawback to the pleasure of her visit—that she could not expect to see Marcus Glen and Richard Millet during her walks.
“I wonder whether she thinks him so guilty as she did,” mused Ruth; and these musings were continued one evening after dinner, when she was seated at work in Lord Henry’s drawing-room, with Marie, who was very pale, close at hand; Lord Henry being, according to custom, seated over his wine—a pleasant, old-fashioned fiction, wherein a decanter of excellent old port was placed before him every evening, of which he drank one glass only, and then went to sleep till the butler announced tea.
Just in the midst of her thoughts respecting Marcus Glen, and as if some electric mental chord of sympathy existed between them, Marie said, in a quiet, rather forced voice:
“Have you seen Captain Glen lately, Ruthy?”
It cost Marie a tremendous effort to say those words calmly. And then that terrible pang of jealousy shot through her breast once more as she saw the crimson blood flush into Ruth’s cheeks and rise above her brows.
Poor Ruth faltered, and looked as guilty as if she had been discovered in some offence, as she replied:
“Yes, only a few days ago. He spoke to us in the Gardens. I was walking with my aunts.”
Marie felt relieved. He could not have said much to Ruth if her aunts were by, and she sighed with content, but only to take herself angrily to task once more, and strive to spur herself onward to her duty. It was in this disposition, then, that she said quietly: