“Do you know Lady Wynde, Lord Towyn?”
“I have met her several times, but not since Sir Harold’s death,” was the reply. “Is she traveling with you?” and the young earl glanced around the deck.
“No, she sent her companion for me. That is Artress, on the other side of the boat. I have never seen Lady Wynde.”
Lord Towyn looked his astonishment.
“Have you not been home since your father’s marriage, nor since his death, Miss Wynde?” he asked.
“No. Papa came once to see me at my school after his marriage, but he did not bring his wife. I have a picture of her which papa sent me. He must have adored her. His letters were full of loving praises of her, and in the last letter he wrote he told me that he desired me to love and obey her as if she were my own mother. His wishes are sacred to me now, and I shall try to love her. Is she very handsome?”
“She is considered handsome,” replied Lord Towyn. “She is dark almost to swarthiness, and has a gypsy’s black eyes. Sir Harold almost worshiped her.”
“Then she must be good?”
Lord Towyn hesitated. He knew little of the handsome Lady Wynde, but he had an instinctive distrust of her.
“She must be good,” he answered thoughtfully. “Had she not been good, Sir Harold would not have loved her.”