She looked at him, wondering. He had an alert air, his eyes were bright and smiling. No, he was not one to give way to unprofitable emotion. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “If Rule means to stop the girl—”
He snapped his fingers. “I said my plans were upset. I believe it to be quite true.”
“You don’t seem to care,” she remarked.
“There are always more plans to be made,” he said. “Not for you,” he added kindly. “You may as well make up your mind to that. I am really distressed for you, my dear. Rule must have been so useful.” He eyed her for a moment, and his smile broadened. “Oh, did you love him, Caroline? That was unwise of you.”
She got up. “You’re abominable, Robert,” she said. “I must see him. I must make him see me.”
“Do, by all means,” Lethbridge said cordially. “I wish you may plague him to death; he would dislike that. But you won’t get him back, my poor dear. Very well do I know Rule. Would you like to see him humbled? I promise you you shall.”
She walked away to the window. “No,” she said indifferently.
“Odd!” he commented. “I assure you, with me it has become quite an obsession.” He came towards her. “You are not very good company today, Caroline. I shall take my leave of you. Do make Rule a scene and then I will come to see you again, and you shall tell me all about it.” He picked up her hand and kissed it. “ Au revoir, my love!” he said sweetly, and went out humming a little tune under his breath.
He was on his way home to Half-Moon Street when my Lady Rule’s landaulet turned a corner of the road and came at a smart pace towards him. Horatia, seated alone now, saw him at once, and seemed undecided. Lethbridge swept off his hat and stood waiting for the carriage to draw up.
Something in that calm assumption that she would order her coachman to stop appealed to Horatia. She gave the necessary command and the landaulet came to a standstill beside Lethbridge.