"Oh, it's a fact. Besides, they evidently don't want it to be known."
"What's that?" asked Dacres, eagerly.
"I say they don't seem to want it to be known. Miss Fay told me in her childish way, and I saw that Mrs. Willoughby looked vexed, and tried to stop her."
"Tried to stop her! Ah! Who were there? Were you calling?"
"Oh no—it was yesterday morning. I was riding, and, to my surprise, met them. They were driving—Mrs. Willoughby and Miss Fay, you know—so I chatted with them a few moments, or rather with Miss Fay, and hoped I would see them again soon, at some fête or other, when she told me this."
"And my wife tried to stop her?"
"Yes."
"And looked vexed?"
"Yes."
"Then it was some secret of hers. She has some reason for keeping dark. The other has none. Aha! don't I understand her? She wants to keep it from me. She knows you're my friend, and was vexed that you should know. Aha! she dreads my presence. She knows I'm on her track. She wants to get away with her Italian—away from my sight. Aha! the tables are turned at last. Aha! my lady. Now we'll see. Now take your Italian and fly, and see how far you can get away from me. Take him, and see if you can hold him. Aha! my angel face, my mild, soft eyes of love, but devil's heart—can not I understand it all? I see through it. I've watched, you. Wait till you see Scone Dacres on your track!"