"Have you?" She was pleased at that—"Well, you see, I have managed it and quite easily too, not so bad after thirty years. My good Roddy, you of all people to tumble off a horse! What were you about?"
"Oh! it was simple enough." Roddy's eyes worked swiftly to the park and then back again. "I was worried, you see—my thoughts were wandering, and the old mare just tripped into a hole, pitched and flung me—I fell on a heap o' stones, they knocked the sense out of me, the horse was frightened and went dashin' along with me tangled up in her. All came of my thoughts wanderin'—But you know, Duchess, I've had heaps of accidents, heaps and heaps, every kind of thing has happened to me, but it's never been serious—always the most wonderful luck. Well, for once it left me."
"Poor old Roddy."
"Yes, it was 'poor old Roddy,' I can tell you, for the first six weeks—thought I simply couldn't stand it, had serious thoughts of kickin' out altogether, seemed to me everythin' had gone ... it's wonderful, though, the way you pick up. And then everyone's been so tremendous, and as for Rachel!"
He heaved a great sigh—Her eyes half closed, then she looked very carefully at the photograph on the little round table. "That's a good photograph of her you've got."
"Yes—it's my favourite. But you, Duchess, tell me about yourself. You must be in magnificent form to have planned this great adventure."
She told him about herself—only a little, all very carefully chosen—She was fancying, as she sat there, that she was again playing the great diplomatist before the world.
This expedition had greatly excited her, it had fired her blood, and just now she felt that she was equal to taking up her old life of thirty years ago, playing once more a tremendous part, beating Mrs. Bronson and others of her kind straight off the field.
She had a great plan now of coming often to see Roddy and of gaining a very great influence over him; she did not say to herself in so many words that she could not bear to think of him lying there helpless and therefore completely in Rachel's power, but that is what in reality stirred her.
Roddy's helplessness—the sight and sound of it—drove higher that flame that had burnt now for so long before the altar at which Rachel was, one day, to be sacrificed. "She may come and go as she pleases. He lies here—He can do nothing. He can know nothing of her movements—He's in her hands—after what I know...."