“Well, arrange it, sir,” Miss Challoner advised him.
“I had almost done so, ma’am. I may say that I bear in my pocket at this moment the direction of an English divine at present travelling through France on his way to Italy. I came here to-night expecting to see Juliana, and to tell her that we have nothing more to wait for. And I find that she has gone, in defiance of my expressed wish, to a ball where the chief — the sole attraction is the Vicomte de Valmé. Madam, I can only designate such conduct as heartless in the extreme.”
Miss Challoner paid very little heed to the last part of this speech, but said rather breathlessly: “You know of an English divine? Oh pray, sir, have you told my Lord Vidal?”
“No, ma’am, for — ”
“Then do not!” Mary said, laying her hand on his. “Will you promise me that you will not tell him?”
“Madam, I regret infinitely, but you are under a misapprehension. It was Lord Vidal who told me.”
Mary’s hand fell again to her side. “When did he tell you?”
“This afternoon, ma’am. He was good enough, at the same time, to present me with a card for this ball at the Hotel Saint-Vire. Apparently he knows his cousin better than I do. I never dreamed that she would go.”
“This afternoon .... Oh, I hoped he would not be able to find a Protestant to marry us!” Mary exclaimed unguardedly. “What shall I do? What in the world shall I do?”
Mr. Comyn regarded her curiously. “Do I understand, ma’am, that a marriage with Lord Vidal is not your desire?”