Lady Honoria passed on. Suddenly a thick-set man emerged from the shadow of the pines. She could not see his face, but he was wrapped in a large cloak.
“Forgive me,” he said in the hoarse voice of one struggling with emotions which he was unable to conceal, “but you can tell me. Does she still live?”
“Do you mean Miss Granger?” she asked.
“Yes, of course. Beatrice—Miss Granger?”
“They do not know, but they think——”
“Yes, yes—they think——”
“That she is dead.”
The man said never a word. He dropped his head upon his breast and, turning, vanished again into the shadow of the pines.
“How very odd,” thought Lady Honoria as she walked rapidly along the cliff towards her lodging. “I suppose that man must be in love with her. Well, I do not wonder at it. I never saw such a face and arm. What a picture that scene in the room would make! She saved Geoffrey and now she’s dead. If he had saved her I should not have wondered. It is like a scene in a novel.”
From all of which it will be seen that Lady Honoria was not wanting in certain romantic and artistical perceptions.